


The Case of The Purloined Purse

by musicin68



Category: Perry Mason (TV), Perry Mason - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Bumbling Police, Clever Police, F/M, Friendship/Love, Here’s To Crime, Murder Mystery, Perry probably just studies the law so he knows when he’s breaking it, Pulp, Romance, Slow Burn, Suspicious District Attorneys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicin68/pseuds/musicin68
Summary: Perry Mason got over his cold, but not without infecting his invaluable secretary, Della Street. If that wasn’t inconvenient enough, a missing purse draws our heroes into a murder case without a client and opens up a can of worms Della would rather keep tightly sealed. With the help of private detective Paul Drake, Perry is on the case. But in order to solve it, the trio has to figure out exactly who Perry’s client is supposed to be.Minor spoilers for The Case of The Baited Hook (tv version).





	1. Chapter 1

Perry Mason, attorney at law, was a large man who gave the impression of an immovable object. In the eyes of Della Street, his confidential secretary, he was more akin to a force of nature than a boss. She had to admit that his recent bout with the common cold made him seem just a little more human. She would have found the episode amusing, that it took a microscopic army to take the great man down, if only—if only she hadn’t caught it too.

Perry had been sick, and worked right through it from his couch with Della at his side. _I told you, I’m a very handy girl to have around._ * With Perry down for the count, she felt like she had racked up enough mileage running about Los Angeles to wear out a second set of feet. They had dug up everything they could for their client. In the end, the best they could manage was a plea bargain of manslaughter. For a self-confessed killer even that had been nothing short of a miracle.

Now Perry was fit, healthy, and bullishly plowing his way through his preparation for their latest client’s preliminary hearing tomorrow while they waited for a report from Paul Drake, Perry’s go-to private investigator. A report that might make all the difference. Della was slowly losing the battle with the invisible army, but she had stayed anyway.

She was used to late nights and long hours. That, and walking the tightrope that was the letter of the law was what it meant to work for a man like Perry Mason. It was exciting. Della was lucky; she honestly loved her job. Perry was brilliant. And _he_ was exciting. Della felt slightly less lucky because if she were to be perfectly honest with herself; she was walking another tightrope. One that felt just as perilous.

Della couldn’t deny her attraction to Perry no matter how much as she wanted to. It wasn’t just that he was good at what he did. Their long, close working relationship, nearly three years now, had given her a deep insight into the man. Three years of work that had blurred into a lasting friendship. She couldn’t help but love him. And she couldn’t help wanting to conceal how hopelessly she had fallen for him.

In addition to fulfilling work there was plenty of dinner, dancing, and fun. And Perry was always, well almost always, a perfect gentleman. It would be so easy to let their friendship become something more and Della suspected Perry felt the same. But what kind of change would that bring to the synchronicity they had? Would they be able to keep working so well together? The savvy brunette couldn’t see how she could guarantee having it both ways. How could she risk giving in to her attraction to him if it meant giving up her job?

Normally, Della handled that job without breaking a sweat. Just now, as her temperature inched upwards, she wished she would. She had taken some aspirin this morning and again at lunch; but lunch was a faint memory and they had worked straight through dinner. She hadn’t restocked her purse after Perry’s bout of sickness, an unusual lapse on her part, and a search of her desk came up empty as well.

The clock informed her it was nearly eleven. She was freezing, and her head felt like it was completely unmoored from her body. She hated to admit it, but she needed to go home and sleep.

The intercom buzzed. “Della!” came Perry’s barking voice. “Is there anymore coffee?”

She blinked. She could handle making coffee, couldn’t she? “Coming right up, Chief.”

Della rinsed and refilled the coffee pot at the sink in the washroom and stumbled on her way to the hot plate, sloshing cold water over the top of the carafe. The thought of a repeat episode while carrying a hot liquid caused her to kick off her heels as she set the coffee to brew. Bending down to pick them up and put them under her desk set off another wave of dizziness, and she resolved to tell Perry she was going home as soon as the coffee was done. She threw on her coat to combat the chills in the meantime.

It was with exaggerated care that Della brought the fresh coffee into Perry’s inner sanctum ten minutes later. She set the tray down on the table and brought a cup doctored with cream and sugar to the pacing attorney. He took it gratefully, and smiled as their hands brushed. Della felt the usual spark, and smiled back. She wished that was the only thing making her dizzy. His smile turned quizzical as he took in her appearance. “Is that a hint, Della?” His gaze fell to her feet. “You’re sending mixed messages if you wanted to head out. You seem to have misplaced your shoes.”

“No,” she frowned as her lagging mind tried and failed to come up with a clever rejoinder. “I know exactly where they are.” She blinked at him. “I was cold.”

He seemed bemused. “Do you know where your pad and pencil are? I need a sounding board for a few theories.”

“Perry, I—” She nodded. “I’ll be right back,” She could make it.

Della returned with the items and seated her self at the table to take notes for him. Perry was in constant motion as he spoke. Exploring an avenue of argument then backtracking slightly to work another path, he refined his thought process out loud. “Della?”

Her head swum. She couldn’t seem to concentrate at all. She felt drunk, illness providing all the effects of overindulgence with none of the upside. A look back over her steno pad revealed more gibberish than shorthand. She propped her head on her hand, and squinted with the difficulty of making sense of what she had written. “Della!”

She jerked up as Perry’s voice penetrated the haze. “Perry.”

“Are you alright?” He took her by the wrist, and almost dropped it in surprise. He turned her to look at him, no doubt registering her flushed face. “Della, you’re hot!”

“Flatterer.” A giddy laugh escaped her. “I'll bring the heat, you bring the bacon, Chief.” Where in the world had that gem come from?

“I’m not kidding!” There was worry in his eyes as Perry’s large hand came to rest against her cheek. Her own drifted shut but she managed not to lean into his palm. “You’re burning up.”

“I couldn’t find any more aspirin,” she reasoned, as if that explained everything.

“Why didn’t you say something? I can run out for aspirin. Go lie down,” he ordered as he tugged her to her feet and directed her towards the couch. His arm around her was tighter than she expected.

She shook her head and remained on her feet. “I should go home. If Paul is much later, you’re going to need the couch yourself. Mr. Evans deserves to have you ready and rested when his trial begins tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll take you.”

“Oh, no. Where will you be when Paul gets here?” she asked, easing herself away gently.

“Last time I checked you had a phone. I’ll leave a note for him on the door.”

“For anyone to come across? ‘Dear Paul. Will be at my secretary’s apartment tonight. Hollywood 2-1799. PS: Don’t let the gossip rags in on the secret.’ That, Mr. Mason, is a terrible idea.”

“How many people do you think are wandering the halls of the Brent Building at eleven o’clock at night?”

“Mrs. Cosgrove—” she began with a frown.

“Isn’t a gossip,” Perry said kindly.

Della shook her head more firmly, regretting the motion immediately. “I’ll be fine; I can call a cab.”

A familiar rhythm echoed from the private, rear office door and Perry let go of her. Surely she was imagining that his hand seemed to linger against her back. “Just give me a minute.”

He opened the door and Paul Drake loped in. “Perry, it’s a good thing you had me check that nightclub again.” He glanced at Della. “Hello Beautiful. Won’t he let you go home?”

“Pretty sure he’s insisting on it now,” she replied and retreated to her office, closing the door softly on Paul’s voice.

Della sat heavily down in her chair and pulled out her purse. The urge to just put her head down on the desk and be done with it was strong, but she knew if she did she’d never be able to will herself back up again. She couldn’t sleep here. Even if Perry actually wanted to take a turn as Florence Nightingale she wasn’t about to let him. He was not a man given to dividing his time, and his focus ought to remain on the Evans case for now. She fished for a moment in her purse and pulled out her address book to find the number for L.A.’s Yellow Cab Company.

The call placed and transportation arranged, Della toed back into her shoes regretfully. She sat a moment longer and considered removing her stockings so she could just go barefoot. She wasn’t quite delirious enough yet to give into that impulse in the workplace even if there was hardly anyone around to see. Heavens, what would her mother think?

She stood and moved to crack the door to Perry’s office quietly. “She was as nervous as a rabbit and none to happy about that subpoena.”

“That was good work, Paul.”

Della closed the door on the discussion as silently as she had opened it, picked up her purse, and headed out of the office. When the elevator began its descent she rested her forehead against the cool metal of the control panel. She shivered as another wave of chills swept through her. A hot bath and bed. Maybe just bed. The door slid open and Della made her way out to the curb woozily. She didn’t have to wait long as a taxi turned the corner and rolled to a stop in front of her.

“You call for a cab, lady?”

“Yes.” She pulled open the door and slid into the back.

“Where to, Miss?”

Della felt foggier than she had in the office. Ugh, when had she gone from going to make it to just awful?

“You okay, Miss? Where do you want to go?”

“Home.” Her eyes drifted shut as her head fell back against the seat.

“Sure thing,” the cabbie said drolly. “Your home have an address?”

Without warning the cab door swung open again and Della opened her eyes to find Perry’s face frowning down at her.

“Hey, buddy! What’s the idea?”

“Excuse me, I’m taking the lady home.”

“Perry. I told you no. I got a cab,” she said weakly.

“Hey now,” the driver’s voice was suddenly suspicious. “If the lady said no, I think you ought to leave her alone.”

“You don’t understand. She’s my secretary and—”

“I don’t care if she’s Princess Margaret. If she don’t want—”

“And she’s ill.” Perry’s voice rang with the command she was used to hearing in the courtroom.

The cabbie blanched and looked at Della again. “Not in my cab she’s not gonna be.” Apparently his gallantry ended at the thought of his passenger losing her dinner all over the upholstery.

Perry pulled a money clip from his pocket, peeled a couple of bills off the roll, and tossed them into the front seat. “For your trouble.” He slid an arm behind her and another under her knees and lifted her from the car. Della’s arms found their way around his neck and she tried to keep her breath steady even as her heart beat faster.

The cabbie came around and shut the door, giving the two of them one more look and a shake of the head before getting back in his car. Della closed her eyes again and listened to the taxi pull away. “Are you going to put me down?”

Perry turned back toward the Brent Building. “I don’t think I should. You’re liable to run off again.”

“You’re not going to have any trouble catching me tonight.” It felt so nice to be in his arms. She shivered again, uncertain if it was her fever or his nearness. “What about the Evans hearing?”

“Paul’s reported in. I can’t be any more ready for tomorrow than I am.” He shifted her weight as he got a hold of the door handle and maneuvered them inside. She wondered if he was cognizant of the fact that in doing so his hand had worked its way under the full skirt of her dress. She supposed it was just as well she hadn’t given in to her earlier desires and taken off her stockings.

She felt a jolt as the elevator began down towards the underground parking garage. The steady beat of his heart was loud in her ears and she could smell a faint trace of his aftershave. A new warmth was spreading through her chest, an ache that made her want to cling to him all the more tightly. It was a shame it took illness to allow herself the luxury. “I suppose you can take me home—”

“You’re very gracious in defeat,” he chuckled.

“But Perry, you can’t stay. You just got done being sick. You need to sleep.”

“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good. I should have noticed.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Especially when you didn’t ask about dinner. I’m sorry I didn’t take you home earlier.”

She smiled against his shoulder. “Your single-minded devotion to your clients is one of your most endearing qualities.”

“Don’t try to make me feel better. Overworking my secretary is a serious offense.”

“You’re in luck then.”

“How so?” He fumbled with the passenger side door handle of his large convertible, tangled in her skirts as he was. Apparently he hadn’t noticed that his hand was on the wrong side of all that fabric. Della felt a familiar pang of disappointment.

“I don’t feel up to pressing charges.”

Perry set her down gently and Della failed to stifle a gasp as his hand ran up her thigh, traversing the hot bare skin above her stockings. Her knees buckled, and he steadied her as he was finally able to disengage from her dress. “Sorry about that,” he managed.

Della nearly groaned. “I wish you weren’t.” Perry stiffened but didn’t stop as he guided her into the car and shut the door firmly. Della hoped against hope she hadn’t actually said that out loud. Her and her big mouth. She needed to get home and away from him before she ended up fired, or worse, had to quit.

She slumped against the seat and waited for him to walk around and join her. She looked up when he remained standing outside the driver’s side door. She had let on too much. They flirted occasionally, didn’t they? Maybe, just maybe, he’d chalk it up to delirium. She tried for humor. “Did you change your mind about giving me a ride? Because sleeping in your car would be even worse than sleeping at the office.”

“No. I didn’t change my mind,” he said, his voice tight. He blew out a breath, and slipped his jacket off, folding it carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy,” she replied honestly. “I just want to lay down.”

Perry nodded and got in, laying the folded article across his thigh. “Go ahead.”

Della rested her head on the makeshift pillow and sighed as Perry briefly put a hand on her forehead before returning his hands to the wheel and backing out of the parking space. She didn’t trust herself to say anything more until the car came to halt in front of her building. She sat up with a groan. “I’ll see you in the morning, Chief.”

“At least let me see you upstairs.”

If he walked her to her door, she’d never be able to let him leave. “I can manage. You go home and rest. I expect you to be sharp enough to dismantle the DA’s case before the noon recess.”

He smiled at that and she opened the passenger door, but turned back as his hand came to rest on her shoulder. “I’ll go, but promise me you will stay in bed as long as you need to. No rushing to the office in the morning. In fact, I don’t even want to see you court. Take the day off. Then you’ve got the weekend to rest. I’ll call and check in on you when Hamilton’s drowning his sorrows tomorrow afternoon. Okay?”

“Okay.” She gave him a soft smile and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Or was she about to kiss him? He remained a breath away from her and she managed break the thick silence between them. “My notes for tomorrow are typed. They’re in a green folder on the end of my desk. If you want the original shorthand for some reason Gertie—”

Perry cut in. “It’ll be fine. I can manage too.”

Della nodded and got out of the car. As steadily as she could she crossed the sidewalk, knowing his eyes were on her. She thanked a couple exiting the building as they held the door for her and gave Perry a final wave.

As she pulled the elevator door shut, she leaned against the wall with a sigh of relief. She couldn’t let Perry come up to her apartment because she couldn’t fend him off tonight. Not that she thought she’d have to. Not like that. He wouldn’t take advantage of her. He would be solicitous and kind. He would look at her with understanding and that roguish grin. And her heart just couldn’t take it tonight, not when her head had already deserted her.

The elevator deposited her on her floor and she made the agonizingly long trip down the hall. Bed, she was going straight to bed. It wasn’t until she was faced with the door, her hands thrust into pockets, that she realized the only thing in them were her gloves. She was without keys. Della wanted to cry. Her keys were in her purse, and her purse was in the back of a Yellow Cab somewhere in Los Angeles.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself back down to the ground floor and knocked on the building manager’s door until it opened on a scowling face. Della ignored the snide commentary the man supplied about working girls up at unseemly hours during their trip back to the fifth floor. She even managed to thank him kindly when he latch-keyed her door.

She found the aspirin, and chased it down with a little water. Torn between the call she had to make and her bed, Della whimpered and sat. She pulled the directory onto her lap and after an interminable search found the number she needed.

A man answered on the other end of the line. “Yellow Cab.”

“Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid I left my purse in one of your cabs this evening.”

“What was the number?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“You catch the name of the driver?”

“I’m afraid not.” Despair began to sink in.

“Do you have your receipt?”

“No...I was only in it for a few minutes. I didn’t actually go anywhere.”

“We have more than a hundred cabs out tonight, Ma’am,” came the exasperated reply.

Della thought for a moment. “It was a dispatch to the Brent Building about eleven fifteen. Does that help?”

“Look, Mrs...”

“Miss. Street. Della Street.”

“Street, huh? Look, Miss Street, without the driver’s name or cab number there’s not much I can do from here. You’re welcome to call back tomorrow and see if it was turned in at the end of shift,” he said hurriedly.

Della knew she was being brushed off, but was too tired to fight anymore. She thanked him and said she would do so before setting the handset back in it’s cradle. She thought about calling Perry, and forced herself to dismiss the idea. He would come and any chance of his much needed rest would vanish. Della retreated to her bedroom. Perry would come and then she’d spill her guts and that would be the end of her job. In having him she’d lose him, lose everything that made her happy.

Even knowing that tomorrow she would regret it, she left her dress in a rumpled mess on the floor. Shivering uncontrollably, she slipped between the cool sheets and waited for oblivion to claim her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *from The Case of The Baited Hook (s01e14)
> 
> The airing of the television show during the first season does not appear to be the same order in which they were filmed. As I’ve read several novels out of order as well, I’ve given up trying to have any sort of definite timeline of events in my head. The closest I can come to continuity is to say that this story was born from the last scene of TCOT Baited Hook (the television show...I haven’t read that book yet). My characterizations remain a mix of the novels and the show, though I am deliberately trying to emulate Erle Stanley Gardner’s pulp style to a certain extent.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism welcome! I am always looking to improve my writing as well as finding out what works and what doesn’t.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Good morning, Perry.” Hamilton Burger, Los Angeles’ District Attorney, greeted Perry Mason as he walked in the courtroom.

“Hamilton,” Mason replied pleasantly.

Burger frowned as Perry opened his briefcase and set a pencil and notebook on the table in front of him. “You seem to be missing your better half. No Miss Street this morning?”

“No. No Miss Street.” Perry smiled at the suspicion lacing the prosecution’s voice but didn’t elaborate further. No doubt the vaunted D.A. assumed Della’s absence was due to a trick or trap just waiting for him to walk into. Not that Perry could blame him. It was entirely the sort of thing he might do. Burger glanced back involuntarily at the people filing through the wide doors of the courtroom. Perry looked forward to telling Della exactly how her illness had discomfited his oft-time adversary. It didn’t make up for the lack of her presence, but it would be a start.

“I could say the same for you,” Perry said as he saw Detective Sergeant Holcomb enter the courtroom. “Tragg couldn’t be here today?”

“He may not be able to make it in. He does have other duties to perform.”

“I’m always hopeful that Homicide will get the day off.”

“Aren’t we all,” Burger agreed.

Perry pulled out Della’s meticulously compiled notes and set them to one side. He had stopped at her place on his way in this morning. Using the key she had left with him for emergencies, he had gone as far as her apartment door before he thought better of continuing. He had no desire to wake her if she were sleeping, and he certainly didn’t want to barge in on her if she were awake.

In the end Perry decided to leave his meager offering on the floor before her door. He’d call later in the day to make sure she got it. He hoped she would be feeling better. He glanced at the empty spot at the end of the table; it didn’t feel right anymore without her. She always felt right.

Perry had spent longer than he would ever admit trying to shake that very feeling last night, the feel of her. The weight of her in his arms. The way she had clung to him in return. She felt perfect. _He_ had felt like a heel. Della had been feverish, hot to the touch, and all he had wanted to do was touch her more. As always, she had gracefully disengaged. But when he had set her down, had felt her naked thigh, warm and soft under his hand, he had needed a few moments to get himself under control. His desire for her had become all too apparent.

_I’m sorry._

_I wish you weren’t._

Her words tormented him all the way to her apartment building. What had she meant exactly? Perry’s hand been up her skirt. It had been…distracting was too mild a word. It had been all he could do not to bring her attention to it. Silk and skin at his fingertips and…clearly he hadn’t succeeded in diverting himself from thoughts of her at all. Would she have let him kiss her senseless? If she hadn’t been sick, well, he suspected he would have made the attempt and damn the consequences. But then, if she hadn’t been sick he wouldn’t have gotten to hold her in the first place.

It wasn’t the first time Perry had thought about asking Della if the attraction was mutual, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. But whichever way he looked at it, he couldn’t find the right way to broach the topic. He was her employer. Perry was not now, and did not ever want be an office wolf. He wouldn’t put Della in a situation that demanded anything of her that she wasn’t willing to give. It was a simple equation in his mind. He valued her more than he wanted to have her. He recognized that they worked as smoothly together as if they had one mind between them. And regardless of any attraction between them, he knew before she had been in his employ a year that he had found his best friend. He loved her. Simple, right?

He gave himself a mental shake. He was certainly doing a fine job of displaying that single-mindedness that Della so admired. He wondered if she knew how often it was devoted to her. He forced his thoughts to his immediate surroundings. He had a client depending on him. Della had been right as usual, Evans deserved his complete focus.

The bailiff brought Sidney Evans to the defense’s table and court was called to order. Mason turned his mind, laser-like, to the case at hand, but Della’s hope that he would have the case dismissed by noon turned out to be in vain. It took until almost the hour of afternoon adjournment.

As Burger had confirmed that morning, Lieutenant Tragg had not been available to testify. Mason might find himself frequently at odds with Tragg, but the lieutenant was scrupulously forthright when it came to his testimony. Sometimes to the consternation of the district attorney’s office. He was a man who followed the evidence and Perry could always depend on him to answer with honesty when something circumstantial didn’t quite fit the prosecution’s case.

Detective Sergeant Holcomb was called to the stand instead and his dislike for Mason was evident in every answer. Built like a bull and just as bull headed, here was a man who felt it more important to stick it to the defense than to serve justice. Perry could impeach the man as biased, but he couldn’t cast doubt on the actual investigation the way he wanted.

When it came time to put on his defense, he called only the young woman Paul had managed to serve the previous evening. It was a risk, as he had only a hunch that she would be able to point him to the true killer, but the risk paid off.

Pandemonium erupted when a man in the gallery tried to bolt for the exit. The court called for order in the commotion and Perry made a motion to dismiss. As the bailiff took the panicking murderer into custody, Perry noticed a police officer approach the District Attorney. His eyes rose as the man gestured in the direction of the defense during their brief conference.

“Mr. Burger,” the judge repeated, irritation evident in his voice at having to fight for the district attorney’s attention. “Does the state have any objection to the defense’s request for dismissal?”

Hamilton Burger glanced at Mason and back to the judge, resigned. “We do not. In light of this new evidence we concur with the defense.”

“Very well. The case against Mr. Evans is dismissed.”

The room stood as the judge did and Perry found himself shaking the hand of an effusive Sidney Evans. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Mr. Mason. Simply can’t tell you!”

“I’m glad we could see justice served,” Perry said with a smile.

Burger approached him from the other side and cleared his throat. “Perry, I don’t mean to interrupt but I’d like to speak to you for a minute before you head out.”

“Certainly.” Hamilton withdrew and Perry turned back to his client who was now embracing his brother.

“I hope I haven’t gotten you into any trouble with the District Attorney,” Sidney Evans said glancing at the state’s representative.

“I don’t think it’s anything to do with you. Come by the office Monday and we’ll get everything wrapped up. Hopefully my secretary will be available then.”

“Yes, of course. Please do thank Miss Street for me.”

“I will.”

Sidney Evans left with a spring in his step that Perry recognized as that of a man once trapped by darkness who could suddenly see the world anew. This was precisely why he preferred to conduct the postmortem immediately following the ruling. Clients tended to handle receiving a bill better when they were in a state of euphoria. But without Della he might as well wait. He was just as likely to make an error in paperwork that she’d have to correct when she returned, as he was to get it all sorted correctly. Sending a revised bill was even worse than waiting.

Mason collected his papers and stepped briskly to the prosecution’s table. “Well Mr. Burger, what can I do for you?”

Hamilton gave him a smile that was almost a grimace. “Could we talk over dinner? My treat. There are a few things I’d like to pick your brain over.”

Perry tilted his head in consideration not allowing his surprise to show.When they went head to head it always seemed that Hamilton Burger’s primary goal in life was trying to get Perry disbarred. And now Burger was offering to buy him dinner? “I need to make a call first. Where did you have in mind?”

“There’s a steak house in Huntington Beach a friend recommended to me. Savute’s, I believe it’s called. Have you been out there? I’ve been eager to try it.”

Perry’s suspicions doubled. “That’s quite a drive this time of day.”

“Well, if you have somewhere you need to be The Seaside is good and only a little ways outside of downtown.”

At least a thirty minute drive, but not the hour it would take to get to Huntington Beach. “Alright. I’ll make my call and then meet you there.”

“You’ve been there then?”

Perry caught a note of disappointment in Burger’s voice. And his hunch solidified; Burger was trying to keep an eye on him, maybe even keep him well out of the way. He couldn’t think why though. The end of the Evan’s cased had cleared his schedule. He didn’t have any clients in trouble that he knew about. He needed more information and, he supposed, he just might be able to get some of it out of Burger. “I have. I’ll see you in about half an hour.”

Perry stepped out of the courtroom and up to the bank of phone booths in the hall. He rang the Drake Detective Agency first. “Paul, it’s Perry. Something’s up.”

“That’s a little vague,” came the sardonic reply.

“Burger’s trying to keep me sidelined on something. I need you to find out what. Do you still have a man with an inside line to the police department?”

“Sure, but it’d help if I had a target a little more specific than ‘something’. He can’t go on a fishing expedition without risking his position there.”

“It’ll probably have to do with homicide. Tragg wasn’t in court today. Find out what he’s working on. If it involves a client of mine I want to know.”

“Alright, but Perry are you sure this is important? Or is this a case of runaway curiosity.”

“Burger offered to buy me dinner just after the Evans case was dismissed this afternoon.”

“You’re kidding.”

“We’ll be at The Seaside. Call me as soon as you have anything.”

“I’m on it.”

Perry’s second call was to Della. He let the phone ring eight times before he hung up, frowning. Could she have slept through it? Maybe she had felt well enough to step out for something. That thought cheered him as another occurred on its heels. She might very well have been in the shower. The thought of Della in the shower took hold of his imagination and it was a long moment before he could refocus on the task at hand. He’d try her again from the restaurant.

Dialing again, Perry’s third call was answered after the first ring by Gertrude Lade’s irrepressibly perky voice.

“Perry Mason’s office. How can I help you?”

“Gertie, this is Mason speaking. Is Jackson still in?”

“Oh, Mr. Mason! Yes, he’s still here. Shall I put you through to him? How did everything go today?”

“A dismissal. Before you put me through, did Della call at all today?”

“No sir, I haven’t heard from her. You did say she wasn’t feeling well, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I just wondered if she had been in touch.”

“No, I’m sorry sir.”

“That’s alright, I told her to take the day. You’d better put me on through to Jackson.”

A moment later Carl Jackson, the only junior lawyer currently in Perry’s employ came on the line.

“Yes, Mr. Mason?”

“Jackson I need to you write up a writ of habeas corpus.”

“Who for?”

“I don’t know yet. We can fill a name in later, but I want to be prepared. Make it broad enough to cover anything and everything. I need it tonight. Got it?” Jackson affirmed that he did indeed have it. Perry hung up and let his finger tap against the receiver as he pondered the situation. There was little more he could do now than push Burger and see if he would let something slip.


	3. Chapter 3

Della woke to the afternoon sun streaming through her bedroom window. The sheets were a tangled mess and a film of sweat clung to her skin. The analgesic she had taken when she had surfaced briefly late that morning had done it’s work. She felt groggy, but her temperature was something akin to normal. Della contemplated going back to sleep, before deciding that she ought to take advantage of the temporary feeling of normalcy the drugs were providing. She could go downtown, try to recover her purse, and then come back and sleep some more.

The phone book was still open from her search the previous night and her fingers quickly dialed up the cab company. A woman’s voice answered this time. “Yellow Cab, may I help you?”

“Hello. My name is Della Street. I called last night. I’m looking for my purse. The night dispatcher thought it might have been turned in at the end of shift early this morning.”

“Oh, just a moment.”

Della waited patiently until the girl returned to the line.

“Are you still there, Miss? Could you come down and make an identification?

“Yes.”

“What’s the address?”

“Address?”

“Yes, your address. Wouldn’t you like me to send a taxi?”

“No, that’s alright,” Della said with a sigh. Taking a cab would certainly be faster and easier, but she didn’t think she had enough cash on her to cover a ride there and back. Until her wallet was back in her possession she decided it was wiser to err on the side of caution. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”

A shower and a minimal amount of makeup made her feel, if not better, at least able to face being out in public. Dressed in a simple straight skirt and blouse, she added the suit’s jacket before heading out. The jacket made the whole outfit more punctilious than was necessary for her errand, but without her purse she felt the need for something with pockets. She grabbed her spare key and enough change to catch a bus to the taxi depot and back.

Della stepped out of her door and looked down with a startled “Ouch!” Her foot had come into contact with something that went rolling across the hall and bounced off the baseboard on the opposite wall. She bent down and picked up the small glass bottle that had been left there. A wave of emotion swept over her at Perry’s thoughtfulness. Who else would have left it here for her? She swallowed hard and blinked, stunned that she was about to cry over something as silly as a bottle of aspirin. She slipped it into her pocket and headed out, wondering if Perry was out of court yet. She supposed not, since he hadn’t called as he promised to.

By the time the bus reached her stop Della had begun to regret her frugal travel choice. She didn’t have far to walk, only a block. Still, she could feel the fog of illness slowly creeping back up on her. She was pushing herself unnecessarily, but then Della had never been one to let others do for her what she could manage herself. Too damn stubborn for her own good Perry had said. Just now she was inclined to agree with him.

Della walked into the Yellow Cab dispatcher’s office. A harried looking blonde was on the phone and she waved Della over and put a hand to the mouth piece. “Did you need a taxi, Miss?”

“No. I called and spoke to you a little while ago. I left my purse in the back of one of your taxis.”

“Um, sit down won’t you? I’ll just be a moment.” Della sat and the young woman finished the call. “I’ll get the shift manager to see you,” she said before leaving Della alone in the room.

A good five minutes elapsed before the woman returned with a middle-aged man in tow. He was of medium height and build, his thinning hair belying a countenance that could have at one time probably been called handsome. “I’m Geoffrey Clarkson, the general manager here. How can I help you Miss—”

“Della Street,” she said, standing. “I’m looking for my purse, Mr. Clarkson. I left it in a cab last night by mistake. Has anything been turned in?”

He glanced significantly at his employee and she scurried out of the room. Della frowned. How many people did she need to tell she had lost a purse? “Could you describe it?”

“Well yes, it isn’t particularly flashy. Just black leather with a handle. It has a gold clasp at the top.” She sighed at his expectant look and continued. “It contained a wallet, my keys...” Her face creased in thought as he continued to stand placidly, watching her without indication he had seen anything at all. She tried to be more specific. “There was likely a notebook and pencil in it, my compact, lipstick, a handkerchief...Look, my wallet and driver’s license should be in it. I called last night looking for it, or really, I suppose it was early this morning.”

“Oh yes, yes.” Mr. Clarkson nodded agreeably. “The night dispatcher remembered you. Well, let me go and check our lost and found and see if anything has been turned in.”

He left Della alone again. The minutes ticked by. Della felt increasingly exhausted and confused. If the manager was so familiar with her call, why didn’t he know if the missing purse had been turned in? How many purses were left behind every shift? She supposed she didn’t actually know. Finally, he returned with a black bag held carefully in his hands. “Is this your purse?”

“Yes, that’s it.” Della reached out to take it, relieved, but further words died on her lips as a familiar figure came strolling through the still open door across the room.

“Thank you for identifying that for us, Miss Street.” Lieutenant Tragg said with a smile. Arthur Tragg didn’t look like the head of a major metropolitan homicide division. Rather, he looked like a businessman, neatly dressed and softly spoken. He evinced none of the bluster and bang that some policemen used in their work. Della didn’t think she had ever heard him raise his voice beyond a firm statement.

“Why…why didn’t you just ask me?”

“We didn’t want to risk any confusion on your part. Now, I have a few more questions you ought to be able to answer for me down at the station.”

Della looked at the purse in her hands again. It certainly looked like hers. A dark stain against the black caught her eye and she nearly dropped it. “Is that—?”

“Blood? Yes, yes it is. Why don’t I take that?” Tragg said as he shepherded a stunned Della out into the parking lot.

He led her to an unmarked car. She sat dazedly, and as the door slammed shut Della suddenly realized she was trapped. How many clients had she seen come through Perry’s office door that were railroaded by the police right into charges of first degree murder? Adrenaline cleared the haze temporarily. She had made a mistake. She should have waited at the garage, made them question her there. She should have called Perry before she had taken one step out of that office.

Della sat stonily in the back of the sedan, her hand clutching the bottle in her pocket like a lifeline. When they arrived at the station she was ushered into a stark interrogation room where she sat down on the hard, straight-backed chair provided. Tragg sat across from her, and an unfamiliar plainclothes detective entered behind him and took up a spot against the wall.

“Della, this is Lieutenant Anderson. He’s just joined us here in Los Angeles. Andy, this is Miss Della Street.”

“How do you do, Miss Street?”

Della looked the tall detective over without comment.

“Now, Della.” Her eyes flicked back to Tragg. “Why don’t you tell me how your purse ended up like this?” He placed the item in question on the table between them.

She tried not to look at it. “I don’t know.”

“Why did you leave it behind?”

Della started to say it was an accident before she swallowed the statement on her tongue. “I want to speak to my lawyer,” she bit out.

“We’re not placing you under arrest, Della. We just want to get a statement. Can you tell us what happened?”

“You can have a statement when my lawyer is here,” she persisted. Della could feel her heart beginning to pound in her ears as panic started to set in. What had happened in the back of that cab?

“I don’t suppose I need to ask who that is. We’ll try to get him here if we can find him.

“That shouldn’t be hard. You know where the office is,” she said, unable to stop herself.

“In the meantime,” Tragg continued, ignoring her sarcasm. “You can save us all a lot of headache—”

An audible huff escaped her. Her headache was building already.

Tragg’s stare was piercing. “Della, we just want to find out what happened.”

Della looked him steadily in the eye. “There’s nothing I can tell you. I don’t know anything.”

“I find that a little hard to believe. I think you know a lot of things.”

“I know I want to speak to my lawyer.”

Tragg sighed and stood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Della watched him go, her lips a tight line.

The man against the wall, Lieutenant Anderson, straightened and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Is there anything I can get you while you’re waiting? Tea? Coffee maybe?”

“A telephone,” Della said tartly. A small smile turned up the edges of his mouth, and she dropped her eyes to her lap. He continued to watch her expectantly. Finally she said, “I don’t want anything to drink.”

His expression was warm as he asked, “Are you sure?”

Della, wondering if it would be better if he just left, relented. “Tea would be nice.”

“Alright then. I’ll be back.”

The door clicked closed and Della dropped her head into one hand. Tragg had left her purse on the table. She didn’t want to look at it. She debated taking some of the aspirin in her pocket and after a glance at the one-way mirror lining the right hand wall, decided against it. Someone was probably watching her. Would they stop her from taking it? The idea of them taking the little bottle from her felt like a gut punch. She was hanging on to it as if it was Perry himself.

This wasn’t Della’s first run-in with the police. Working for Perry meant she had been questioned about some of the more dubious actions the attorney took on occasion. It didn’t mitigate her fear at all. In the past, her encounters with law enforcement had always been with the knowledge that, like the bottle she was clinging too now, the indomitable Perry Mason was in her pocket, ready to jump to her defense should she need it. But Perry didn’t know where she was. Della wasn’t even sure she knew where she was. They hadn’t taken her to police headquarters; that was where Tragg’s office was. They had driven east. Would Perry or Paul be able to find whichever precinct this was before the police closed their trap? Della was sick, frightened, and throughly disgusted with herself for getting into this situation in the first place.

There was no clock in the room, but Della’s watch informed her that nearly twenty minutes elapsed before the young lieutenant returned carrying a tray with the most mismatched tea service Della had ever seen. A squat white mug accompanied a battered tin kettle, a ceramic blue creamer, and a porcelain sugar bowl decorated with a rose motif. “I wasn’t sure how you took it so...” Anderson said as he set down the tray.

“Thank you.” Della poured for herself, and stirred in a bit of sugar to try and ease the building ache in her throat. She would have preferred lemon and honey, but lacking that she made do. Having watched Perry battle this virus she knew that next would come congestion and a deep cough. She couldn’t wait.

“You seem like a nice girl, Miss Street—”

“I’m going to stop you right there Lieutenant Anderson,” Della said softly.

“Call me Andy, please.”

Della took a sip of lukewarm tea with a grimace. “Lieutenant, we may have just met, but your colleagues have told you exactly who am and who I work for. You don’t think I’m a nice girl. You think I’m mixed up in something awful. I’m not. You’re hoping I’ll fall for the nice guy routine. I won’t. I want to contact my attorney and when he gives the go-ahead you can have a statement.”

Anderson perched himself on the edge of the table. “It was worth a try.”

“How much of your time do you plan on wasting with me?”

“As much as necessary.”

“I’m entitled to a phone call and counsel.”

“You haven’t been arrested.”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“Have you done something that we should arrest you for?”

“No.”

“Then why not tell us what happened? We just want to hear your side.” He smiled again and she bristled at it.

“I don’t know how my purse ended up like that. I don’t know where you found it. I don’t know why you think I want to talk to you without Mr. Mason present. Either you arrest me, or I’m going home. You can’t detain me without a charge.”

“I think you’ll find we can.”

Della slammed down the mug, spilling brown liquid onto the tray as she stood. “Not legally; you can’t.”

“Please relax, Miss Street. I can see you’re too upset to talk right now. I’m sure we’ll find your boss shortly.” Andy picked up the tray with a smile. “When you’re ready to speak with someone, there’s an officer right outside the door.”

Blinking back tears of frustration Della watched the door close behind the detective once more. A chill ran through her and she folded her arms tightly. She wished she had brought a heavier coat. Not that it would help if her fever was going back up, she’d still feel cold.

A sneeze caught her by surprise. A second followed in short succession. Instinctively she reached for her purse to retrieve a handkerchief. She froze, one hand outstretched, as she realized what she was doing. She supposed it didn’t matter. She had already touched it. Why hadn’t they shown her what was inside?

Della wasn’t sure she wanted to see, but gnawing curiosity won out over her reticence. She turned the bag to avoid the blood that covered nearly one whole side. How much liquid would have been necessary to make such a uniform stain, she wondered with a shudder.

The discoloration only just touched the bottom and the clasp. It must have been laying on its side in a pool of blood. Della flipped open the latch and carefully removed the items inside. She tried to be objective about the things before her. The steno book was fresh. The same brand she purchased for the office, but with nothing written inside there was no way to definitively tie it to her. Blood had permeated the seam of the purse, leaving a rusty smudge on the corner of the notebook cover.

The two sharp pencils were no more or less damning to her eye, and the lace edge of the handkerchief was similar to those she owned but certainly not unique. She had bought hers at May Company, the same department store where she had purchased the purse. There was no sign of her wallet, compact or keys.

She picked up the final item in front of her and her jawed dropped as she rolled the lipstick up. It was a deep plum color, darker than anything she owned or had ever remotely considered wearing. Della preferred a more traditional red. She drew a narrow line on the back of her hand to be sure it wasn’t a trick of the light. It wasn’t hers.

Hope fluttered like a bird in her chest. They had made a mistake. The blood-stained bag wasn’t hers at all. She stood in order to summon the officer waiting beyond the door and then sat down again as her brain raced ahead. Other women certainly carried the same style of bag, but what were the odds that two identical bags had been left in taxis operated by the same company on the same night? One that was missing obvious identification of any kind and left at the scene of a murder and another that belonged to her and was still missing. Something was wrong with the whole scenario.

How many times had she seen Perry pull similar tricks in court. Make the suspect think you have evidence to trip them up. Or in this case, make the suspect believe that you don’t. If she thought there was no reason the police could suspect her would she be speaking willingly to Lieutenants Tragg and Anderson? She almost had just now.

She looked at the pencils and the handkerchief again carefully before moving them aside. All of them had some small trace of the blood that had leaked through the stitching. The smooth cylinder of lipstick was perfectly clean. Either it had been incredibly fortunate in its position inside the purse or someone had placed it inside after the blood had dried. How long did it take for that much blood to dry? Della couldn’t stop herself wondering. She shuddered again. How much time had elapsed between Perry pulling her from that cab and her purse being soaked in blood?

Her head hurt. She wanted to ask Tragg what he was playing at, but he wasn’t a fool. He was the only man she knew who could give Perry a run for his money when it came to sheer cleverness. Any dialog she initiated would be a tool the homicide detective could twist against her and there was nothing she would gain in compounding her sin. Della put her head down on her arms and closed her eyes. It was going to be a very long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lt. Andy Anderson is introduced on the show sometime in season 5 (if I recall correctly...the episodes are many and starting to blur a bit for me) with little more than something along the lines of “You remember Lt. Anderson.” So here is one possible first encounter with Della.
> 
> Book vs. television. The Arthur Tragg of the books is much younger than Ray Collins’ portrayal, but I love them both. Both are entertaining, clever foils for Perry. I was purposefully vague in any physical description of Tragg with the intent that you could imagine whichever version is your favorite.


	4. Chapter 4

The Seaside was a popular Friday night destination, but the District Attorney seemed to be well enough known there that he didn’t have any trouble being seated right away. Perry Mason sat down across from Hamilton Burger at a corner table set for four. “Alright Hamilton, you have my interest peaked. What is it that I can do for you?”

“I feel like it’s possible I owe you an apology, Perry. I can’t say that I approve of your methods, but you do manage to come through for your clients when it counts.”

“I always try to act in my clients best interests.”

“That may be, but your clients aren’t always innocent.”

“Regardless of innocence or guilt, it is their right to representation in a court of law…but arguing that point isn’t why we’re really here.”

Burger changed the subject. “How did you figure on the bartender anyway, Perry?”

“A matter of opportunity.”

“Your client had opportunity too.”

“I believed my client. That meant there was only one other way to look. Now, you didn’t ask me all the way out here just to rub salt in your wounds. What is it that you want?”

“Well,” Burger started affably, “I’d like a cocktail, maybe a double after today, and a steak.”

“And my company?”

He laughed. “That’s right.”

“You had thirty minutes to come up with a line to sell me and that was it?”

“Now look here, Perry,” Burger’s voice rose as the smile fell from his face. “You and I work in the same field—”

“On opposite sides usually.”

“I thought we were both on the side of justice! What’s wrong with wanting to be on better terms?”

“Nothing at all, Hamilton. Nothing at all. You’ll have to forgive my suspicion. This is the first time in the two years you’ve been our district attorney that you’ve suggested such a thing.” Perry smiled wryly. “I had the impression that you didn’t like me.”

Burger signaled to the waiter. “Well, I don’t generally pick up the tab for people I don’t like. A Gin Ricky.”

Perry ordered a Manhattan and patiently watched Burger’s frowning face.

“I’ve always thought I understood you, Perry. You’re smart. Maybe too smart for your own good.”

“Kind of you to say, Hamilton, but I don’t need my ego stroked.”

“You also bend laws so far they break because you’re driven to win. You must realize you can’t stay ahead of the law forever. Eventually it’s going to catch up to you.”

It was Perry’s turn to frown. “You suspect that I’ve broken some law?”

“Damn it, I know you have!”

“Then you know more than I do.” Their drinks arrived amidst this tête-á-tête and the waiter stood somewhat awkwardly, waiting to take the order for their dinner. Perry turned to him. “Steak medium-rare, lyonnaise potatoes, and a tossed salad.”

Burger ordered his steak with French-fried potatoes and sat sullenly across the table. “Look Perry, I have a responsibility to the people of Los Angeles County. I have a responsibility to make sure that justice is done—”

“You don’t need to pull out the stump speech with me. This isn’t the campaign trail.”

“And,” Burger forged on, “justice includes prosecuting accessories after the fact.”

“It sounds like you’re suggesting I’m such an accessory.”

As Burger opened his mouth to reply, the maître d’ appeared at the table. “Please pardon my interruption gentlemen, but there is a call for you, Mr. Mason.”

Perry rose and gave Burger a mocking smile. “I look forward to hearing more about the needs of justice when I get back.”

He followed the host to the end of the bar where a phone waited and picked up the receiver. “This is Perry Mason.”

“Perry, it’s Paul.”

Perry fixed a placid expression on his face as his eyes drifted across the room to Burger’s table. “What have you got for me?”

“Alright, before I give you the dirt I need you to promise me something.”

“I don’t pay you to play games with me, Paul.”

“I’m not playing. I need you to promise you’re going to listen to everything I have to say before you go tearing out of there.”

“The police have one of my clients then.”

“Promise me, Perry.”

“Fine. I promise.”

“You’re going to listen to everything I have to say.”

“Out with it, Paul,” Perry growled

“My guy got a line on Tragg and his new partner. They brought Della in for questioning around 4 o’clock this afternoon.”

Conscious of those that might be watching, Perry’s expression remained etched in stone, but his grip on the receiver became so tight the plastic made an audible protest.

“Perry? Perry, are you still there? Damn it, you promised!”

“I’m still here, Paul,” he managed.

The detective blew out a relieved breath. “Okay. Here’s the skinny. They’re sweating her at the Northeast Precinct station. The official word is that they’re waiting for her to be calm enough to give a statement, but they’ve pulled just about everyone in homicide in on this. Really, I think they’re scrambling to get as much evidence as they can.”

“Evidence of what?”

“Murder, what else? She’s not talking, and keeps asking for you.”

“Good girl.” Perry’s mind was racing. “I need the details in the police report.”

“You mean you don’t know what happened?”

“Why would I know?”

“Well, it’s not like this would be the first time you got yourself...er...mixed up in a case when you’re defending a client,” Paul said as tactfully as he could.

“Burger as much as said the same thing.”

“Makes sense. They’re not just harassing Della for fun. Your hide is the trophy the D.A. really wants to mount on his wall.

“It’s a low-down, dirty way to go about getting it,” Perry snapped.

“Hey now, no use shooting the messenger. I’m on your side. The good news is, they haven’t arrested her. They may not actually have enough to make it stick.”

“Tragg’s too smart for that. Once they place her under arrest the clock starts ticking. They couldn’t hope to keep me in the dark. Stay near the phone. I’ll be calling as soon as I’ve spoken to her.”

“You’re sure you can’t tell me if you’re mixed up with something?”

“I can’t.”

“Is that a can’t or a won’t?”

“Can’t, Paul. I don’t know what angle they’re working. I need the police report.”

“I’ll get it.”

“Do me a favor. Call back here after I hang up.”

A sharp chuckle echoed in the handset. “Uh-huh. Tell Burger I’m a concerned citizen with a tip for him on one Della Street?” Paul asked. “How much time do you need?”

“Thirty minutes if you can manage it.”

“I can manage it.”

Perry thought he did remarkably well. Rather than marching over and beating the District Attorney to a pulp in the middle of a crowded restaurant, he hung up the phone and asked the bartender where the restrooms were. He headed casually for the bathroom and as soon as he was out of the dining room’s sight lines, turned immediately for the exit. When he crossed the threshold of the restaurant he broke into a run.

Perry drove like a madman; straight to the office to pick up the writ Jackson had finished. He cursed as he wasted precious seconds wrestling the thing into the typewriter and hunting out the correct keys to fill in ‘Della Street’. Finally he ripped the completed writ free of the roller and raced for the police station. Perry barreled through the doors and bore down on the officer manning the front desk. The desk was raised, situated to allow the watch officer to look down on those brought into the building. It was an intimidation tactic that didn’t work on Mason. His anger bled into his voice.

“My name is Perry Mason. I’m Della Street’s attorney. She is being held incommunicado and I have a writ of habeas corpus for her release. Before you go reporting to Lieutenant Tragg, keep in mind that I know she’s here and I know she’s asked for representation. If I am not allowed to see her in the next ten minutes I will bring a suit for the violation of her rights that includes your name particularly,” Perry glanced at the name plate in front of him, “Sergeant Baxter.”

The flustered Sergeant picked up the phone and hastily handed the problem off to someone on the other end of that line while Perry checked his watch. Three minutes later, a tall plain clothed detective came into the lobby. “Good evening, Mr. Mason. I’m Lieutenant Anderson. I understand you’re an attorney.”

Perry’s features were as hard as granite. “Which interrogation room is Miss Street in?”

“Miss Street is here to give us a statement. If you’ll wait patiently, it shouldn’t be much longer.”

“She’s asked for representation. If you intend to deny her that right, you may be certain she will file suit against you.” Mason looked at his watch and then at the Sergeant, “Six minutes.”

The officer picked up the phone again with a worried look on his face. Anderson held up his hand to forestall him, but the nervous officer didn’t put down the phone. Anderson turned back to Mason. “A lawyer has been provided to Miss Street.”

“When?”

Anderson frowned. “I’m not sure of the exact time. After she asked for one.”

“Three minutes ago if I don’t miss my guess.” The sudden shadow across Anderson’s face was confirmation enough. “You can’t keep holding her without charge. I have a writ for her release and if you don’t turn around and lead the way to her, I’ll see to it that your suspension is followed swiftly by the permanent loss of your badge.”

“Now look here—”

“Don’t bother, Andy,” Tragg stopped him as he came through the wooden gate that separated the front desk from the outer lobby. “You’ll find that Mr. Mason is something of a troublemaker, but he rarely threatens something he is not prepared to deliver on. Good evening, Perry.”

“Enough games, Tragg. You’ve had your shot. Now, where’s Della?”

“This way, Counselor.”

Tragg led the way into the station proper and stopped at a door marked ‘Room 3’. Perry pushed past the slow moving detective as he was raising his hand to knock. The door swung open on a scene that couldn’t have been more purposefully designed to enrage Perry if they’d tried. Della sat straight-backed, face drawn and pale. Her eyes were averted from a scattering of items on the table. Detective Sergeant Holcomb loomed over her, his face purple, mouth gapping as he yelled. “—with you last night?”

“That’s enough!”

Holcomb spun around and Della’s eyes shot up at the sound of Perry’s booming voice. Perry was momentarily frozen by the spark that flickered to life in those hazel-green orbs. Her cheeks held the same spots of color he had noted last night as her fever rose.

“Yes, Sergeant. There’s no need to shout.” A thin, young man in an ill-fitting suit voiced into the sudden silence. “Miss Street, as I’ve advised I think there can be little harm in explaining—”

“Miss Street won’t be explaining anything.” Perry boxed out the smaller man as he moved to stand next to Della. She pulled her hand from her pocket and made an abortive movement towards him before clasping both hands tightly in her lap.

Holcomb hastily snatched four photographs of what appeared to be a bloody corpse off the table. In one image, the face shown in close up was wide-eyed and staring.

“Is Miss Street under arrest?”

“That all depends on what she has to say.”

“I understand she has already declined to say anything.”

“How the devil did you know that?” Holcomb exclaimed.

“You just confirmed it for me.”

“We won’t have your sort of double-talk! This isn’t your courtroom!”

Perry fixed Holcomb with a stare before turning back to Tragg “Why is Miss Street here?”

“Information is a two way street, Perry. You want to know what’s going on, you’re going to have to give us something. Why don’t you save yourself, or at the very least Della here, any more hassle, and tell us where you’ve stashed your client?”

“My client? My client is right here, Tragg,” Perry said and gestured to Della.

“Your _other_ client.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. I have a number of clients.”

Tragg’s face twisted in frustration. “I had hoped you would be more cooperative considering the fact you’ve gotten Della mixed up in this.”

Perry forced a placid smile as his mind turned over these implications. “I haven’t seen evidence that she’s mixed up in anything.”

“There’s evidence that places her at the scene of a murder.”

“Whose murder?”

“That isn’t being released yet.”

“What evidence?”

“Her purse was there, Perry. She identified it.” He gestured at a black bag on the table and Mason let his eyes drift over the objects arrayed there.

“It doesn’t necessarily follow that she was there.”

“Her fingerprints indicate otherwise.”

“You haven’t arrested her. Where did you get her fingerprints from to make this comparison?”

“Tricks of the trade, Counselor,” Tragg said with a smile.

“The tea set,” Della said quietly, her gaze growing glassy.

Perry looked at her sharply, trying to determine if the non-sequitur was a symptom of a climbing fever.

He almost missed Tragg’s surprise at her statement. “Well, in any case, we have enough to make a positive match.”

Perry refocused on the police detective. “ _Her_ prints on _her_ purse. That isn’t evidence of murder.”

“And her prints in the back of a cab.”

“A taxicab? How many other prints did you find inside it?”

“Now look, Counselor—”

“Do you have a witness? A witness placing Miss Street at the scene of a crime, not simply in the back of a cab? A cab she could easily have been in at any time prior to the murder in question?”

“We know she was in it last night!” Holcomb interrupted angrily.

“And so you brought her in here and have been harassing her for hours while denying her council until I arrived.”

The harried young man in question cleared his throat, “I’m Chester Ellis, Mr. Mason. I was here on another matter and volunteered to help Miss Street—” Mason shot him a withering glance and he fell silent.

Tragg had the audacity to smirk. “You know as well as I do that the wheels of justice turn slowly, Perry.”

Mason considered the situation. He didn’t know what Della would say. He had no idea what she might have done. He could ask to be left alone with her, but any delay would be playing along with the police. Perry didn’t want to give them any more time to build their case, he wanted to get Della out of there now. She was watching him calmly. She trusted him. “Miss Street is ready to make her statement.” He trusted her.

“Alright Della, go ahead.”

“You’ll need someone to take it down, Tragg,” Perry said smoothly. “You’re only getting one shot at this.

Tragg frowned and motioned for Holcomb to retrieve someone able to take down Della’s statement in shorthand.

“Oh and Sergeant, I think perhaps you should bring a glass of water for Miss Street as well.”

“This isn’t a restaurant, Mason!”

“I think we can provide that,” Tragg cut in and the lumbering Sergeant stomped out of the room. “I don’t think you’ll be needed anymore, Mr. Ellis.”

“On the contrary. I’m quite happy to have a member of the district attorney’s office present as a witness.” Ellis blanched at this identification. “It’s quite fortunate I came along when I did, isn’t it? It would have been quite a bind for you to have ended up with conflicting interests,” Perry said pointedly.

“As you say, it’s fortunate it didn’t come to that,” Ellis ventured cautiously.

Holcomb returned with a severe looking matron carrying pencils and a sheaf of loose paper in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She set the glass down in front of Della with an encouraging smile and seated herself at the far end of the table.

Della pulled a little glass bottle from her pocket and shook out two tablets.

“What’s that?”

Della surrendered the container to Tragg and downed the pills. “Aspirin.”

He eyed the bottle carefully and then set it with the rest of the evidence laid out before them. “Where did you take the cab last night, Della?”

Perry shook his head. “Just tell him what happened.”

“We were working late,” Della began carefully. The sound of a scratching pencil echoed in the room. “I wasn’t feeling well, so Mr. Mason told me I should go home. I called for a cab and went to meet it. While the driver was asking for my address Mr. Mason came and,” Della hesitated. Perry kept his eyes fixed placidly on Tragg despite his desire to watch Della’s face. “He offered to take me home. I got out of the cab without realizing I’d left my purse behind.”

“When was the last time you left your purse somewhere?” Tragg interrupted.

“Let her finish or you’re not getting any more cooperation.”

“This isn’t cooperation, Mason.” Holcomb started in, but Tragg waved him to silence.

Della took another breath. “Mr. Mason drove me home. When I got inside I called the Yellow Cab dispatch.”

“And how did you—”

“Last warning, Tragg.”

Della continued doggedly onward. “The man on duty told me to check back in the morning. I took an analgesic and went to bed. I didn’t get up until this afternoon. I called Yellow Cab again and was told to come down to make an identification of my purse. At which point I met you, Lieutenant,” Della finished.

“There you are.” Perry put his hand on the back of Della’s arm and she rose.

“Just a minute, we’re not done here. I have a few questions.”

“They’ll have to wait. The writ means Miss Street is finished here.”

Tragg made a swift head motion in Holcomb’s direction and the Sergeant leapt to his feet and rushed out the door. “I’ll need her to sign that statement.”

“Have it typed up and sent to my office. If you send it by special courier, she might even be able to get around to signing off on it by Monday afternoon.”

Perry had maneuvered Della to the door when it swung open to admit a panting Hamilton Burger. Perry reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the writ of habeas corpus. He planted it in Hamilton’s chest before the other man had a chance to catch his breath and Perry pushed past him into the hallway. “The wheels of justice may be slow at times, but they’re still turning, gentlemen. They’re still turning.”


	5. Chapter 5

Della shivered in the night air as they walked quickly out of the Northeast Precinct station. Perry slipped out of his overcoat as he guided her straight to his car and for a moment she had an intense feeling of déjà vu. This time, instead of folding it as he had the night before, he wrapped it around her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Get in. If we’re lucky we may have a few minutes before they decide to put a tail on us.” Perry’s voice was hard.

Della blinked, but obeyed. She wanted to slide across the seat and move closer to him, but the tension in his body warned her off. Instead, she burrowed into his coat, pulling it close around her. Perry drove the car rapidly through the darkened streets while Della cast about for a way to apologize for the mess she had inadvertently gotten herself into.

A thousand things were tumbling through her mind and she could hardly order any of it. She couldn’t tell anymore if it was illness or adrenaline that had her so scattered. She needed to focus. She ought to be telling Perry about what the police had asked her, about the photographs and her purse. But all she could think about was the anger on his face. Della had expected disappointment; she hadn’t expected he would be this upset. He had barely looked at her.

Perry pulled the car to the curb in front of her apartment building and jumped out. He had the passenger door open before she had even registered the driver’s side slamming shut. “Quickly now.”

His grip was firm as he ushered her inside the building using his key. “Perry, why—”

“Can you get a bag together with anything you think you might need for a few days?”

She nodded in the affirmative. “Yes, but Perry—”

“Can you do it in five minutes?”

Della nodded again. “Yes.”

They reached her floor and Perry pulled her into motion along with him. “I don’t want the police to be able to put their hands on you for a little while.”

“Wouldn’t they just have arrested me tonight if they wanted to ask me more questions?”

“Jackson worked up a writ of habeas corpus for you, but if Burger is feeling particularly vengeful he might try bringing you back in anyway.

“Can he do that?”

Perry nodded and latch-keyed her door. “That writ I slapped in Burger’s face tonight hasn’t actually been signed off on by a judge.”

“You were bluffing?”

“Let’s call it a stall. It’s a valid request, and they can’t hope to hold you once it’s been heard; the matter just hasn’t been brought before the court yet. I sought to expedite matters by skipping the court part.”

“Perry, I didn’t do anything.” She could hear a note of pleading in her own voice that made her cringe. Surely he believed her.

“Five minutes. Get moving.”

Della turned and ran into her bedroom to pull out a suitcase. Rifling through drawers she tossed underthings, stockings, and clothing into it haphazardly. She moved to the bathroom and threw makeup, toiletries, and curlers into a carryall. Della slammed it shut and then opened it again to add the few items that made up her home medicine cabinet to the lot.

She returned to the bedroom. As she snapped the latches of the larger case into place Perry strode into her room, her coat in his hands. She stiffened in surprise and sucked in a breath as he leaned in close.

He reached around her with one hand to pick up her suitcase. “Time’s up.” With his free hand he offered her coat.

Regretfully, she exchanged his jacket for her own, inhaling deeply one last time before slipping it off and handing it back. He tossed it over his arm and they walked out, letting the spring bolt engage to lock the door behind them.

When they reached the ground floor again Della let Perry lead her out the door and past his parked car without question. She looked around as they walked briskly down the alley to the street that backed the building. She didn’t see anyone following them, but then picking out a tail wasn’t really part of her skill set. There didn’t seem to be overt signs of the police anyway.

Della felt herself start to falter as they continued down the street. The adrenaline masking her symptoms had reached its limit. She stumbled as Perry pulled her on a little farther to hail a cab, Blue Checker she noted with a strange feeling of relief, and they climbed in luggage and all.

“The Brentwood Hotel on tenth.”

Della collapsed against Perry in the back seat. Body language or no, her reserves were completely empty. Perry pushed her away gently and she swallowed painfully against the sudden tightness in her throat. But he was only shifting away from her so he could free his arm. He wrapped it around her and pulled her back into him. Della let her eyes drift shut in relief and they rode in silence.

She could feel the headache and dizziness that had plagued her beginning to ease. She didn’t know if she should attribute it to the aspirin she had finally taken or Perry’s presence. Maybe both. Her relief that he hadn’t rejected her need for contact was a palpable thing.

Della was so tired she didn’t even blink an eye as Perry registered them as Mr. and Mrs. Heywood Lowell of Chicago and jocularly accepted the concierge’s offer of the bridal suite upon their arrival. If she had been feeling anything like her normal self she wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity to tease him about that.

When they entered the luxuriously appointed room, Della dropped her carryall and sat heavily at the end of the bed. “Am I guilty of flight now?”

“Not if there isn’t a warrant out for your arrest.”

“Will there be?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Perry perched at the edge of the small table opposite the bed and studied her. She fidgeted under his unwavering appraisal. She felt like a mess. What in the world did she look like?

“What did you tell the police before I got there.”

“Nothing. I told them I didn’t know anything and that I wanted my lawyer.”

Perry nodded. “Did you know the man in the photos?”

“No,” Della shuddered and shook her head. “I can’t remember ever seeing him before.”

“Did the police mention any names?”

She shook her head again. “No. They asked me what I had done, who I was with, and why I had left my purse behind. They asked that a lot, actually.”

“Why did you leave your purse behind?”

“It was an accident. Why is that what they were so fixated on? Wouldn’t a better question be ‘where did I leave my purse’? Because the answer to that is in the back of a cab.”

“It goes to motive,” he said thoughtfully.

“What motive? I left my purse in the back of a cab, not at the scene of a murder!”

“I didn’t say you did. Why did you leave it behind in the cab?”

“I—I don’t know. I just forgot that’s all.”

“You just forgot?”

“Yes. I just forgot.” She took a breath, trying not to let her frustration build as he pushed her. She wanted to lay down, not be forced to answer more questions.

“You just forgot the one item a woman never goes anywhere without,” came the skeptical reply.

“For heaven’s sake Perry, you were there. You know I just left it.”

“Tragg doesn’t think you just left it in a cab.” She opened her mouth to interject again, but he stopped her. “Convince me. It’s the way you give the answer that matters, Della.”

Della ground her jaw together and tried to think of why her answer was so unbelievable.

It hit her with a clarity that must have show on her face because Perry asked again, “Why did you leave your purse in the cab?”

Another realization came along with the first. More than anything in the world Della did not want the dectectives of homicide, or Perry Mason, to know why. “I—I was sick. I didn’t feel well. You were there, just tell them it’s the truth,” she said her eyes skittering away from his.

“Your lawyer does not make a convincing witness.” Perry paused as he thought things over. “Besides, I’m not sure I could swear that you even had your purse in the cab.”

“What?”

“To be perfectly honest, Della, I was a bit distracted. Your purse was the last thing on my mind.”

She flushed. “Oh.” Perry was watching her intently, but she refused to meet his gaze. “Well, I didn’t kill anyone, and I didn’t help anybody else kill anyone. Or help anyone flee justice, or anything else. It shouldn’t matter why I left my purse in a cab.”

“It’ll matter to Tragg. They’re trying to tie you to a murder. Possibly an accessory after the fact. If you don’t think he’s going to ask again, you’re fooling yourself.” Perry straightened and started to pace slowly in front of her.

Her back was up now. “I’ll give him the same answer.”

“He won’t find it anymore credible than I do.”

“You can’t really think I killed someone!”

“Give me an answer that’s believable.”

“Being sick isn’t believable?”

“It’s plausible, but it isn’t the truth.”

“Perry—”

“Why did you leave it behind?”

“It has nothing to do with murder!”

“Then why?”

“Why are you cross-examining me?” she all but shouted.

“You hesitated at the station when you said you left it behind. If I noticed, Tragg did.” Perry’s voice remained even but he drove on relentlessly. “I don’t want it to land you in jail. The police are going to be back eventually. They’ll ask you this again and again, looking for a hole in your story. They’ll try to trap you in your own statement and I need to know what really happened.”

“I didn’t lie to the police and you know what happened,” she said stubbornly, trying to bring her temper under control. Perry was a master at this game, at manipulating the emotions of his opponents to ferret out information. She was losing.

“When did you realize your purse was missing?”

Della tried not to let the change in tack throw her. “When I got to my door.”

“How did you get into your apartment?”

“I got the building manager to let me in.”

“Then?”

“Then I called the cab dispatch and got brushed off. Then I went to bed.”

“What time did you call them back?”

“When I got up. I think it was a little after two.”

“That’s more than twelve hours. Was there anyone else with you from the time you entered your apartment to the time you called the dispatch this afternoon?”

“I was sick. I was in bed. Which, since you’d like me to be completely honest, is where I’d like to be right now,” she said tartly.

“Is that a no?”

“That’s a no.”

“When you called did the dispatch say they had your purse?”

Della’s brow wrinkled. “I—I’m not sure. They asked if I could come and identify it. It was a setup. Tragg was fishing for the owner.”

Perry’s pacing ceased. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I know I should have. Tragg had me in the back of his car before I could think clearly.”

“I mean last night when you realized your purse was gone.”

Della froze. She had wanted to call him so very badly. “I…I figured I would just check in the morning. I’m a big girl, Chief. I can handle a little hiccup in my day-to-day.”

“Evidently not.”

“That isn’t fair,” she said quietly.

“The police don’t intend to be fair.”

“You’re not the police. You’re worse. You know, if you’re trying to punish me for a momentary lapse you’re doing a bang-up job,” she snapped.

Perry sighed deeply and sat down next to her. Della shied away, desperate to hold on to the irritation she was trying to use as a shield. When he spoke again his voice was softer and Della felt the same deep ache in her chest she had felt last night when he had carried her to his car. “I’m not trying to punish you, Della. I’m trying to help.”

She finally allowed herself to look up, knowing her resolve would crumble. Knowing she would surely drown in the expressive blue pools that regarded her so intently. “It won’t help.”

“Let me be the judge of that please.”

Della blinked back tears that suddenly pricked her eyes. “It was you.”

Something sparked in his gaze though his face remained unchanged.

“You say you were distracted? Well, you picked me up and I couldn’t think of anything else. Just you. I couldn’t have even told you I had a purse in that moment.” Della swallowed and looked at her lap as the things she had tried so hard to keep hidden poured out of her. Perry’s sudden softness had been more effective than TNT. “I won’t tell the police that. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Perry put his hand out, a silent offering, and Della slid hers into it. “Why ever not?”

“They have no right to know my personal…Oh, don’t you ever worry about what people would say? Besides,” Della shook her head hopelessly, “that’s not what we are.”

He hummed noncommittally as his thumb began gently massaging her palm. “What are we?”

She should have expected the question. It didn’t matter whether the mystery was murderous or mundane; Perry just couldn’t help probing and pushing until he had all the answers. “We’re co-workers. We’re…I hope we’re friends.”

He smiled reassuringly. “Unquestionably.”

“But anyway I add it up, it can’t be more than that.”

“Suppose,” he said slowly. “Suppose I told you that I’d never known a woman as wonderful as you before.”

The distance between them was shrinking.

“Suppose I said I couldn’t imagine my life without you. Would that change your equation?”

The silence that fell between them was deafening, but try as she might Della couldn’t find an answer that didn’t sound six sorts of wrong. Finally Perry gave her hand a squeeze and asked, “When was the last time you ate?”

This time she was thrown. “I…I don’t know. I don’t feel like eating.”

“I’m going to order some room service and then I’m going to call Paul. You’re going to eat something whether you like it or not, and then you’re going to bed.”

Perry stood abruptly and Della retreated to the bathroom in a daze to wash her face with shaking hands. Perry’s interrogation had thrown her far more out of sorts than any attempt by the police. It made no difference that she knew exactly how he operated or how he dealt with recalcitrant clients. Perry just couldn’t help himself; finding a witness’s weakest point was a compulsion with him.

And now he had not only found hers, but opened the door on his own feelings. Suppose. Suppose, indeed. She found her toothbrush to complete her ablutions. Suppose she told Perry that she wasn’t waiting for his declaration. Suppose she said, deep down she had been wanting to jump into this head first for more than a year. Suppose she admitted she was afraid of what would happen if they disturbed the status quo. Della stared at herself in the mirror. She was jittery and exhausted. She wanted to curl up somewhere to think things over, but where was there to go?

She stepped out of the bathroom and rummaged through her mess of a suitcase for pajamas and a robe. Apparently having finished making his calls, Perry was pacing the floor. His head was down as he walked. His body bent as though he was fighting through a storm.

Della sneezed three times in rapid succession but Perry didn’t even break his stride, so deep in thought was he. The pacing was usually a signal for quiet while he sifted information in that lightning-quick brain of his. When he wanted to bounce ideas back and forth he tended to stillness. In the office, it was easy for Della to step back out of his way and let him think when he started roaming. She could always decamp to the law library or her own office and tend to any of the myriad of things that needed doing. Now her choice was to sit quietly in a corner or retreat to the bathroom. Neither option was particularly palatable and the lingering tension of his unanswered question made her too nervous to stay still. Della found a handkerchief in her mess of a suitcase and then began folding and putting clothes away in the large armoire.

When she finished there was a knock at the door and she withdrew to the bathroom again to change while Perry dealt with room service. The things she had packed in haste were not what she would have chosen for spending the night in a hotel room with Perry and Paul. There was nothing practical about the pale pink, satin nightgown that had ended up in her suitcase. At least she had managed to bring her robe.

She belted the dappled, cream colored silk tightly around her waist and returned to the main room. Perry was seated at the table digging into a t-bone steak. Neatly set out on the plate across from him were two pieces of toast with butter and jam. A carafe of coffee was at his elbow and a pot of tea opposite.

“Sit. Eat.”

Della sat. “I appreciate it, but even toast sounds unappetizing.”

“Humor me.”

She took a bite of the toast. She hadn’t felt remotely hungry, but the moment the jam hit her tongue she was suddenly ravenous. She polished off both pieces and Perry moved a third of the steak, which he had cut and set aside, to her plate. Della finished it unapologetically.

“Paul’s on his way.”

“Alright,” she said cautiously. Food had given her a second wind after all, but she dreaded going another round with Perry.

“Feel any better?”

“I suppose so.” A cough tickled her throat and she reached for the cup of tea he had prepared for her. The soothing mixture of warm liquid, honey, and lemon felt wonderful. “Thank you.”

“I wish you would have let me help last night.”

Della huffed and set the cup down carefully so she wouldn’t throw it at him. “Don’t tell me you still suspect I got up in a fevered haze and killed someone!”

“Of course not.”

“Then what good would it have done? You already said you wouldn’t make a good alibi. For all you know, you might have been so distracted you wouldn’t have even been able to swear I was there,” she taunted, throwing his words back to him.

A slow grin spread on his face. “I deserved that, but you were the distraction, Miss Street.” His hand slid to cover hers gently. She didn’t pull away.

“Don’t…don’t be so nice.” Della managed a little breathlessly. “It’s nerve-wracking.”

“Being nice?” His thumb began it’s hypnotic caress across her skin once more, his eyes holding hers.

Della felt dizzy all over again and forced herself to breathe. This. This is why she had sent him away last night. Her face twisted as she tried to break the spell settling over them, “Any second I expect you to start in on me again. Just…get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” he asked absentmindedly.

“The…the questions. You have questions. You were asking me questions!”

Paul Drake’s coded knock sounded on the door and Della sighed with a mix of relief and exasperation. Perry groaned and got up to let the lanky detective in.

“Hello, Beautiful. Perry.” Paul nodded to them as he slouched into the room, a slim file in his hands.

“What have you got?” Perry’s focus turned on a dime.

“The entire police file, but it’s pretty thin and I have to get the photos back to my man in thirty minutes.”

“That’s alright. Let’s see it.”

Della moved from her chair to the bed. She had seen all she wanted of those pictures already. Paul dropped the file on the middle of the table as Perry cleared the dishes to the side and poured himself another cup of coffee.

“If the police have issued a warrant for Della, don’t tell me.”

“They haven’t.”

“Thoughts on that?”

“Someone else’s prints are on the murder weapon—”

“A letter opener?”

“Mmm-hmm, and Burger is certain the guilty party is a client of yours.”

Perry nodded as he looked the photos over carefully. “And just as certain Della’s purse means we were involved in stashing said party away somewhere or otherwise tampering with the scene.”

“You got it in one. The D.A. seems pretty desperate to nail you with this. Guess they figured they could crack Della and get a charge up against you.”

“They were wrong,” Perry said with a note of satisfaction in his voice.

Della tucked her feet underneath her and curled up on the end of the bed as she watched the two men, comforted by Perry’s averred faith in her when only an hour ago she had feared he had none.

Perry’s eyes found hers. “Your wallet wasn’t on the table with your other things, neither were your keys. Did the police ask you where they were?”

“No,” she replied not bothering to get up.

His eyes glinted. “Then they’re working under the assumption that you took them and left the purse on purpose.”

“Why would I have called up looking for it then?” Della asked as a yawn caught her by surprise.

“There must have been something inside it that was incriminating. Something you would have felt compelled to return for.”

“What else do women carry in their purses that could identify them?” Paul voiced.

“An address book?” Perry posited.

“In my desk at the office.”

“Jewelry?” Paul offered. “Something engraved maybe?”

“No, my compact was gone too…” Della blinked slowly. “The lipstick.”

“The what?”

“The lipstick in the purse. It wasn’t mine.” Della held up her hand to show him the faint remnants of the purple smudge still on her skin. “I thought maybe Tragg had planted it to get me to start talking.”

“What made you think it had been planted?”

“Everything else had blood on it. The lipstick was clean.”

“Why would you have gone back for lipstick?”

“It was an unusual color. Maybe even unusual enough to identify someone.”

Perry leaned over the information in front of him and absentmindedly rubbed his knuckles against his palm.

Della let her eyes shut as exhaustion strengthened its hold on her. Perry and Paul’s voices were vague impressions, not fully registering as she drifted on the edges of sleep.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Find the cab driver. I want to talk to him.”

“Even if the police have him buttoned up?”

“Especially if the police have him buttoned up.”

“That’s going to be something of a tall order.”

“Not as tall as the other thing you have to do.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to find me a client before the police do.”

“The person the police are hunting? The person who isn’t actually your client?”

“I can’t say I like it, but I don’t have much choice.”

“Wouldn’t you just be better off walking away from this whole thing? This mystery client is looks very, very guilty.”

“I can’t walk away from it. Not until I’m certain Della is out of it.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t argue that. But how exactly am I supposed to go about finding your mystery client ahead of the police?”

“I don’t ask you how to do my job, now do I?”

“Nope. You just ask for the impossible. I suppose you’d like these things accomplished in the next hour.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Paul. You can have all night if you need it.”


	6. Chapter 6

Bloody letter openers and a strange woman sitting at her desk haunted Della’s dreams. _I’m sorry, did you have an appointment? Mr. Mason is quite busy._ I’m not a client; I work here. I’m his confidential secretary. _No, I’m quite sure I’d remember if he’d had one of those._ Blood stained each new envelope the woman sliced open and set aside onto a seemingly endless pile that was sliding off the desk and on to the floor at Della’s feet. _I’m afraid there’s no room in Mr. Mason’s schedule today, he simply has no time until the mail has been answered._ I have to see him. Please!

Della startled awake to a blackened room. The last conscious thing she remembered was laying on the end of the bed listening to Perry’s instructions to Paul. At some point one of them, probably Perry, had moved her to a more traditional sleeping position and covered her with the blankets.

The heavy curtains were drawn, blocking out the light of the city at night. Della breathed deeply, willing her nerves to settle in the wake of her uneasy slumber. She reached over to the far side of the bed, blinking in the darkness. It was empty. She hadn't really expected Perry to be there; once he had a case to wrestle with she knew he rarely even took the time to sleep. He wouldn’t be babysitting her, but some small part of her had been hopeful he had stayed. Della didn’t like how erratic the last twelve hours had made her feel.

Her throat ached. It felt like a miasma had settled somewhere just below her vocal chords when she inhaled. On the upside, she didn’t feel feverish. It was some sort of progress she supposed.

She slid from under the covers, and started blindly for the bathroom and the cough syrup tucked in her carryall. Della was loosening the belt at her waist in order to adjust and retie it when she tripped and fell in a heap over something positioned across her path. A masculine grunted curse, and a subsequent knee in her ribs informed her that the offending objects were Perry’s long legs, outstretched from the chair he had occupied.

“Ow! Perry, why are you sitting in the dark?” she asked, her voice rough as he helped her find her feet. For a moment she was unreasonably angry that he had positioned himself so inconsiderately. It hardly seemed fair that she had to add bumps and bruises to her list of ailments.

“I was sleeping. Or at least trying to.” One hand came to rest on her hip, the other rubbed her forearm.

Della tried clearing her throat. “In a chair? There’s a whole half a bed there you could be using.”

Perry’s tone was unusually hesitant. “I wasn’t sure if…I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

So he made himself uncomfortable instead. Della shook her head, her anger evaporating like morning mist under the hot sun. She didn’t bother trying to hide the smile that broke out on her face. Perry couldn’t possibly see it. “What time is it?”

“I can’t read my watch.” She thought she could hear an answering smile in his voice.

“I figured you would be off chasing down leads with Paul.”

“One more set of legs won’t make any difference. He’s got the whole agency out on the job.”

“At the usual exorbitant rates I’m sure.” She sighed, “And you without a client to cover expenses.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t pay for your safety.”

Della felt her cheeks grow hot. But where she would have ducked her head and turned away had he been able to see her, blinded to sight and propriety she found herself steady.

It was so easy. Here, under the quiet cover of darkness, reality was the shadowy illusion. Now, while normal people slept, dreams were the rule. She loved him, he loved her. Suppose. His voice echoed in her head. Well, suppose she just kissed him.

“Perry—” she felt her voice crack and the deep cough that followed brought her back to herself. She was going to infect him all over again. “I…I was getting cough syrup.”

“I can get it,” he said, but made no actual movement away from her.

Della coughed again, longer this time, and Perry’s hands tightened on her. “Let’s get you back into bed.”

He eased her backwards and Della felt one leg come into contact with the four-poster. She was gripped by a sudden urgency. Now. If she didn’t kiss him now, she wasn’t going to.

She pushed herself up on her toes and reached upwards, feeling her way up his neck until her thumb was tracing his jaw. His stony countenance was rigid beneath her hand, so still she couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. Sure of his position, she brought her lips gently to his.

She marveled to find them soft and yielding, not like granite at all. Perry responded quickly to her actions. A moan rumbled deep in his chest, and she shuddered as he deepened the kiss. His hands came alive, marble transformed by magic to desire incarnate. He ran them along the nape of her neck and into her hair, tilting her head so he could meet her mouth more fully. Every nerve in her embattled body sang out. Della couldn’t think of anything but more. She wanted more. Why on earth hadn’t she done this before?

Perry’s hands slid down to her collar bone running along it before continuing their descent, his thumbs awakening taut, aching flesh as his fingers parted her open robe further. Heat pooled in her belly. _More._ She arched into his touch, but he was already moving on, long, strong fingers wrapping around her flanks, fisting in the silken fabric of her negligee. _Yes, more._ Perry hesitated only a moment before he ran both hands down her backside to cup her rear and pull her flush against him. _Oh god, more._ Della’s lips parted in a gasp and his ever so clever tongue seized the opportunity to delve between them. Hormones were flooding her system drowning out hurt and fatigue. _Please, please, more._ She didn’t know how she could possibly feel so good when she felt so bad.

“Della.” Perry broke away from her, both of them desperate for air. Lord in heaven she could listen to the man’s voice all day, and she often did, but the way he said her name was like nothing she had ever heard before. Desperate and reverent in the same breath, it was a good thing he was holding her so tightly. She was molten liquid right now, and if he let her go she didn’t doubt she would find herself on the floor.

It was perfect.

“Damn it,” she moaned. Perry shifted slightly, and she could picture the amused expression on his face he often wore when she surprised him.

“Did you…?” The breath from his quiet laughter sent sparks along her skin and she rocked against him unthinkingly. His arousal was hard against her. She struggled against the urge to throw all decency out the window, wrap her legs around him and…“Did you just curse?” he asked, his lips remaining just millimeters from her.

She was still breathing too fast, her lungs trying to outdo her racing heart. “I’m not a nun, Perry.” Della added the delicious sound he made before his words become coherent to the growing list of things she intended to hear again.

“I’ve never been so glad of anything in all my life, but I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard you curse before.” He was so close. Each exhalation ruffled the hairs on her neck as he bent over her. Was he doing that on purpose?

His mouth found a spot behind her ear and her head lolled to the side in encouragement of his actions. “I—I curse when the occasion calls for it.”

“Kissing me is an occasion that calls for damnation?” he questioned, briefly halting his siege on her neck.

“It is right now.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“It’s…” Her heavy sigh was more tremulous than she intended. “This isn’t real. The two of us, wrapped in darkness. It’s a dream. And when we wake up in the morning nothing will have changed.”

“ _Everything_ has changed.” He sounded so happy she nearly cursed again.

Della slipped her arms around him. One hand searched out the hem of his undershirt unbidden. Her fingers found warm skin at the small of his back, and she clutched it greedily. She wanted that shirt off entirely; she wanted to feel all of him. But rather than let her hands move to divest him of the cotton barrier between them, she tightened her hold and tucked her head against his shoulder. Her common sense was fighting a losing battle and it was the only defense she could muster against the reckless need his wandering mouth was kindling in her. “Nothing will have changed about why this wasn’t a good idea in the first place. Things were working well and now I’ve ruined everything.”

“Sign me up for ruin and destruction then. I, for one, think this was a brilliant idea.” Finding another avenue for touch, Perry’s fingers explored her spine. She ought to tell him to stop. It was so hard to focus while he was doing that.

“What if this destroys your practice? Your reputation—”

“Isn’t important.”

“How can you say that? The papers will have a field day if it gets out that you’re having an affair with your secretary.”

“You are important.” He kissed the top of her head. “We are important. What anyone else thinks of me isn’t.”

“Say that when you don’t have any clients. You know just as well as I do that your entire profession is built on personal relationships, a trust that has to go both ways. I doubt very much the kind of people who won’t care that you’re sleeping with your secretary are the kind of people you’ll want to represent.”

“Sleeping is the least of what I hope we’ll be doing.”

Della shuddered under his touch. “Perry, I’m trying to be serious.”

“About people who won’t care about what we do in our own time. People like Paul?”

“Paul’s our friend; it isn’t the same.”

His hands ceased their feathery caresses and found her arms as he pushed her away gently as though he could see her better. “I’ve always taken clients as they come. You know that. Justice must be for everyone if there is to be any at all. Everyone deserves representation before the court.”

“But you’ve worked so hard to get to the point where you don’t have to. You take the cases that interest you now.” Della leaned back slightly, wanting desperately to read his face, but try as she might the darkened room thwarted her. “I know you. You think you won’t mind, but if things change, if you have to represent anyone who comes in the door just to pay the bills…eventually you’ll resent me for it.”

Della didn’t mention how much she’d resent herself. She couldn’t count the number of times she had watched Perry risk his practice, his freedom, even his life for a client. It was a tendency too deeply ingrained in his personality to be turned on or off. It was one of the reasons she loved him, but she could barely stand to watch it when he was enjoying himself, when he was representing someone who deserved that kind of loyalty. How could she watch him get in too deep with a client that would turn on him in a second, knowing it was her fault?

He pulled her back in close, his lips coming to rest against her forehead. “There is a simple solution to this problem, you realize.”

She shook her head. “I can’t see one.”

“Don’t have an affair with me. Marry me.”

Every muscle in Della’s body stiffened, and she sucked in a sharp breath that brought on a fit of coughing. Perry bent and scooped her up, carrying her around to the side of the bed. He set her down gently and vanished into the darkness. _No. No no no._ Kissing him had gone from a choice she might regret in the morning to a nightmare she might regret the rest of her life. She fought for breath, doubled over as the air was forced from her lungs. Della didn’t want to share Perry’s name. She didn’t want to share his money. She wanted to share his life. And if there was one thing that was true to its core, it was that Perry’s work was his life.

There was a click as Perry twisted the knob on the bedside lamp and Della was suddenly blinded. She blinked tears away, uncertain if they were from the force of her coughing or the dread that was slowly choking her. Eventually her spasms eased and she realized that Perry was holding a spoon, waiting to dose her with the medicine she had brought.

Della accepted two spoonfuls of the bitter-sweet, viscous liquid and leaned back against the pillows. “You don’t want a wife, Chief,” she said hoarsely.

His eyes narrowed at her use of the appellation. “Don’t you think I’m the best judge of that?”

“You don’t _need_ a wife, then.”

“I need you, Della Street.”

Her heart squeezed almost painfully in her chest. “You need a good secretary.”

“I have one of those.”

“But if we got married, could I keep working for you?” She couldn’t finish the rest. Or would he be off having an adventure with another girl Friday while she was alone at home? The very idea made her despair. Della didn’t consider herself the jealous type; she was confident in who she was. But even so, she knew herself well enough to recognize that seeing Perry off working cases, hunting up leads, and dodging the law all with another girl at his side would eat her up inside.

Perry set down the spoon and bottle and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. “I hate to say it, but I haven’t thought all that far ahead on the matter.”

“I have.” She might as well admit it. “And the answer is no. The clients who wouldn’t condone a relationship out of wedlock would be just as unhappy to hear you barking orders at your wife.”

“I bark?”

“Sometimes you bark,” she replied gently.

Perry considered her with his ever-piercing gaze. “You wouldn’t have to work.”

Della grabbed his hand convulsively. “No! I want to work! If you locked me away in a neat little house with a white picket fence, I’d…I’d need a good defense lawyer because it would probably drive me to murder.”

The shadow of a grin appeared on his face. “What if it were a _big_ house?”

She kneed him in the side. “It would be easier to hide the bodies.”

Perry laughed and Della felt herself beginning to relax. If they were still friends then maybe she hadn’t made an utter and complete mess of everything. Maybe they could make something work. She didn’t have a clue what it could possibly be, but faced with even the tiniest hope she could have her cake and eat it too, she found herself insatiate.

His eyes were just as hungry as they searched her face. “I love you. Whether you marry me or not, nothing will change that.”

She nodded in relief. “I love you too.”

“Just don’t expect me to lie and say I wouldn’t like you to.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to lie and tell you the thought isn’t a terrible one.”

He nodded slowly. “I can accept that for now.”

Della wriggled her feet under the covers and Perry stood to tuck her in.

Rather than letting him straighten, she tightened her grip on his hand. “Will you stay?”

“To sleep,” he said firmly. “I’m not prepared to take this any further tonight but…when you’re feeling better I’d like to.”

“I’ll make sure your secretary blocks out some time for it.”

She released him and Perry switched off the light once more. For one brief moment Della was alone again in the dark and the soul searing kisses they had shared might have been a dream after all. Then she felt the mattress dip as Perry lay down next to her. He reached out to tug her to him and she caught his hand once more. Della brought his palm to her lips and placed a kiss against the fleshy base of his thumb. Just to be sure it had been real.

“Della…” he warned.

Undeterred, she let her lips part and nipped at the spot lightly with her teeth. Perry’s strangled moan morphed into a growl, and she let go with a contented smile as he snatched his hand back. Della leaned back into his larger frame, and he wrapped his arm around her, tucking his hand firmly under her side in silent reproof. Her growing list was going to need a cross-reference.


	7. Chapter 7

It was true that The Drake Detective Agency owed a lot of its business to Perry Mason. That wasn’t to say they didn’t work for other clients, but Paul Drake could tell you without looking at the books that not a single one demanded the resources the famous defense attorney did. Perry Mason, the client, demanded information and he demanded it now. The man thought faster than an electronic brain, and facts were his fuel. Perry Mason, the friend, didn’t demand anything of Paul, but it was that friendship, not the steady income, that kept Paul working all hours of the night.

It had not been a particularly good one. Paul had spent it in his office fielding calls from nearly every agent in his employ. That was what most detective work involved, a lot of waiting. The normal dissatisfaction he had when he came up empty on an errand for Perry was magnified ten-fold. He didn’t like seeing Della Street in trouble anymore than her boss did. Plus, he was in constant fear that he’d hear a warrant had been issued for her arrest. He knew where she was, and he could do without the added stress of being forced to choose between loyalty to his friends and keeping his license.

The churning worry, lack of leads, and the cold, greasy hamburger he had eaten around three all contributed to a sour stomach. He chased a bicarbonate with a glass of water and stood to stretch his tired back. When the phone rang he answered with a tired, “This is Drake.”

Paul was relieved to hear Faulkner on the other end of the line. It wasn’t surprising at all to the lanky detective that he had been the first to come through. Paul scribbled down the address his best operative rattled off and then gave him his next set of marching orders. “Mason is going to want the works on this guy; he always does. That’s right, everything you can dig up. Better catch a nap if you can before you get started. I’ll have Todd and Rickers out there in about two hours for you too.”

Hanging up, he made two more calls reassigning his men and then let his answering service know he’d check back in at eight. He could have called Perry to let him know they had found the cab driver, but even a call from a pay phone left a trace. He didn’t intend to give the police any clues as to Della and Perry’s whereabouts.

He headed out the door and spotted a tail almost immediately upon exiting the Brent Building. Burger sure wasn’t messing around. Paul was glad he had taken it upon himself to deliver the information in person. The detective took a cab to a hotel on the west side of town. He hopped out and stopped at the newsstand outside. The obvious tail he had picked up was still following. But then, that was the one he was supposed to see. It took him slightly longer to pinpoint the second, but he did as he purchased the morning edition. Tucking it under his arm, he entered the hotel.

A quick glance at the keys behind the desk gave him an idea of which rooms were in use. Paul took the elevator to the fifth floor, got off and walked down two floors to the third. He caught sight of tail number one in the stairwell. The second would be watching the lobby waiting for him to slip out. He slipped a passkey into the lock of room 311 and pulled the door shut behind him. He would have a few minutes before the detectives could confer and begin searching the floor.

Paul opened the window and made his way rapidly down the fire escape. From there he ducked into the service entrance of a restaurant across the alley amidst a delivery of fresh produce. Strolling through the kitchen as if he belonged there he made his way out the front, walked down two blocks to the taxicab stand and hailed a new ride.

Not seeing any further sign of police observation he directed the driver to The Brentwood. Paul pulled up his paper and used it to mask his surveillance of the side view mirrors and the rear. So far so good.

Confident he had ditched his shadows, Drake took the elevator up to the eighth and strolled down the hall. He checked his watch as he beat out the customary tattoo on Perry’s hotel room door. Almost seven. No reason the attorney wouldn’t be up by now, if he had been able to sleep at all. Sure enough, the door opened promptly and Perry waved him in with a finger to his lips.

Paul took in the room with a gaze that appeared casual only through years of practice. Della was asleep in the big bed, blankets askew. The detective noted that both sides of the bed were rumpled and at the moment the brunette was showing quite a bit of well-turned leg beneath the lacy hem of her pink, satin nighty.

He turned his shrewd gaze to Perry. He was sliding his tie beneath the collar of a shirt that wasn’t fresh, but obviously hadn’t been slept in. If he had been under oath Paul would be forced to admit it had always been as clear as day that the attorney and his secretary were close, but until this moment he hadn’t seriously considered the fact they might be sleeping together. Still, Perry seemed completely oblivious to the scene he and Della were presenting. If it had been anyone else that alone would’ve given Paul reason to second guess his conclusions, but then he had never known the big man to care one way or the other what most people thought.

“What have you turned up?” Mason asked quietly.

“Name and current whereabouts of a cabbie by the name of Dorian Faltz. He’s already spoken to the police, but they didn’t do anything to keep him out of circulation other than sending him to stay with a sister in La Habra.”

“It sounds like our esteemed District Attorney is taking calls to trim the county budget seriously.”

“You’re in an awfully good mood this morning.”

“Am I? I must have slept better than you.”

“I caught a couple of minutes at my desk in between phone calls I’ll have you know.”

“I definitely slept better than you.”

“Rub it in why don’t you.” Paul let his gaze slide meaningfully to the sleeping woman in the large bed, but Perry didn’t bite.

“I need to leave a note for Della, and then we can go.”

“It’s okay. I heard,” came a rasping voice as the lady in question rolled onto her back and blinked blearily at the ceiling.

Paul turned to face her with a sheepish smile. “Good morning, Beautiful.”

“Paul Drake,” she croaked, barely audible. “Don’t you know better than to lie to a woman about her appearance?”

“Who’s lying? Besides, I always thought that sort of thing was the secret to a long and happy relationship,” he winked.

Her hazy laugh turned into a barking cough, harsh and wet. Paul took a step back. “You’re still beautiful, but I’m going to stand over here.”

“Faint heart never won fair lady,” Perry opined as he tightened the knot of his tie.

“You are some kind of glutton for punishment. Didn’t you just get over that crud?” Paul shook his head in mock disbelief. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so rotten, Gorgeous. Go back to sleep.”

“Don’t go wandering,” Perry ordered.

Della rolled her eyes at the both of them and pulled the covers back up. Paul stepped out of the room and Perry pulled the door shut on the sounds of another cringe inducing cough. The detective felt a twinge of guilt at his earlier suspicions. Della was really sick.

The two men got a cab and Perry looked over the paper Paul handed him as they rode out to the address Faulkner had acquired. Perry told the driver to wait and they headed up the walk toward a faded yellow house. Their knock was answered by a man in shirtsleeves and suspenders. “What d’ya want?”

Paul put a hand on the door to prevent it being slammed back in their faces. “Dorian Faltz?”

“Who’s asking?”

“We have a few questions for you.”

“Police or press?”

“I’m a detective.” Paul offered honestly, allowing the man’s misconception to work in his favor.

Faltz opened the door the rest of the way and Perry followed Paul into the house.

“I’ve already talked with detectives. Why’d you come out here?” He asked gruffly.

“We want to clarify a few things. Some of your information isn’t squaring up with another witness’s statement.”

“Whose?! I told your buddies the truth!”

“I figured as much, but you know how it is. Someone gets sent back to make sure all the i’s get dotted and their butts are covered. The District Attorney’d have somebody’s hide if his case were to fall apart before it started.”

Perry cleared his throat. Paul supposed he was laying it on a bit thick. He could take a hint. He let the stone-faced attorney take the lead and turned back to watch Faltz expectantly.

“Why don’t you tell us again from the beginning? Just so we can be sure of your statement,” Mason said as Faltz directed them to a worn sofa and chair set.

“It’s just like I said before. I went on shift at ten and worked ‘till four. It was a pretty routine sorta night until I picked up that lawyer and his secretary.”

Perry nodded, ignoring the sharp glance from Paul.

“What time was that?”

“A little before midnight.”

“Tell us about that fare.”

“Well, you know, at first they seemed just like the usual sort of couple out late having a good time. Snuggled up together, whispering in the back, necking. That sort of thing.”

Drake snorted.

Perry frowned at him, “Where did you pick them up?”

“Outside The Redwood on south Hill street. They took a while to decide where to go. Had me drive ‘em out towards the observatory before having me turn all the way around and go to a house in Lynwood.”

“You remember that address?” Paul cut in.

“It’s in the book I gotta keep of my fares. Everything gets written down, mileage and all. The detectives I talked to the first time ‘round took it with them.”

Paul nodded. He had assigned one man to check on the address in the police file, but the place had been locked up tight. It would be nice to have confirmation it was the same as the address Faltz had driven to before Perry insisted they do something less than legal. The private detective wasn’t as cavalier about breaking and entering as his attorney friend.

“What happened when you got to the house in Lynwood?”

“The guy asked me to wait. So I waited. Almost thirty minutes, but what do I care it was his dime,” he shrugged. “Then he and the lady came back out. She seemed kinda nervous. They had me bring them back downtown and the guy gets out. Then he’s leaning on the front window giving me instructions to take the lady on to wherever she’d like to go.

“I wouldn’ have thought another thing about it, but as he’s standing there this guy says, ‘Do you know who I am?’ And I say, ‘Should I?’ And he says, ‘Yeah, if you read the papers.’ And I say, ‘Of course I do.’ And he says, ‘Well, I’m Perry Mason and I’m workin’ on an important case. And I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d forget where you’re driving my secretary this evening.’ And then he hands me two twenty dollar bills and a wink.”

Paul’s eyebrows had reached his hairline, but Perry continued to ignore him. “But you didn’t forget.”

“Of course not. Don’t know when I’ve seen someone act more suspicious. At first I thought maybe he was just trying to make sure no one knew he was carrying on with his secretary on the side. And the best lawyer in town owing me a favor? Seemed like a lot for turning a blind eye to a little canoodling. But then I got to thinking the only thing he was real specific in wanting me to keep my mouth shut about was where I was taking her after. Said even he didn't want to know.”

“How good a look did you get at the two of them?”

“Well, I got a pretty good look at the woman after that. Brunette, real dark eyes, pretty face. Good figure. Dressed professional like, brown suit. But the man was out of the cab before I had any reason to think I might need to remember specific-like.”

“What do you remember about the man nonspecifically?”

“You mean aside from his name?”

“Aside from what he claimed his name was, yes.”

“He was wearing a suit an’ tie, I s’pose.”

“You suppose?” Paul interjected.

“Well, he had an overcoat on, didn’t he? It was a cool night.”

Perry stood up. “Was he as tall as me?”

“Nah. He wasn’t a big guy like you. Don’t know that I’d say scrawny, but no prize fighter. I suppose lawyers are all about brains over brawn, eh?” He chuckled at his own joke.

“I’m sure they like to think so,” Paul chimed in with a smile. Knowing Perry, he’d pay for that dig later, but a man had to get his shots in where he could.

“Where did you take the woman?” Perry continued.

“Westhills Motel in Inglewood.”

“Did she say anything to you?”

“Not word one aside from her destination. She was definitely shook over something.”

“When did you find the purse?”

“After I got back to the garage. Dilly had me—”

“Dilly?” Paul prompted.

“Robert Dillard. Dilly, he’s the night dispatcher. I thought you all talked with him too.”

“Different detail.”

“Well, I finished my shift, got a bit of breakfast, and when I got back to pick up my things Dilly had me check. Said this Street doll had called looking. It was tucked up under the seat. After seeing it, I knew why she had been so spooked. So we called your lot.”

Perry’s eyes sharpened. “Did she tell you her name was Street?”

“Nah, I told you, she said nothing to me. Dilly said that was the lady’s name. What cab dispatcher is gonna forget a name like ‘Street’?”

“Certainly not Dilly it seems. Just to be clear though, you’re certain about the size of the man.”

“Yeah, not a guy I’d worry about meeting in a dark alley.”

“How many more fares did you have that evening?”

“A few. They’re all in the book.”

“Were any of them out of the ordinary?”

“Not so’s you’d notice.”

“One last question Mr. Faltz. Do you keep a record of passengers who might be in your cab, but for whatever reason don’t end up going anywhere?”

“You mean if somebody realizes they can’t pay the fare? Usually that happens at the end of a ride not the beginning,” Faltz complained.

“Say if someone changed their mind about using your services altogether and got out.”

“No point to that. Only gotta keep track of fares if there’s a charge or mileage.”

“Did you have any of those on Thursday night?”

Faltz took a minute to think. “Now that you mention it there was a woman that got in for a minute or two downtown and then left with a big guy, more your size.”

“Do you remember what she looked like?”

“Um, short hair. Dark, I think.” He shrugged. “She’d been drinking or something. Was gonna be sick.”

“Did you tell the homicide detectives about that?”

Dorian shrugged again, “They didn’t ask.” His face puckered in concentration as he looked at Mason again.

“Thank you, Mr. Faltz.” Perry gave Paul a signal and the lanky detective stood to leave.

“Hey, I ever seen you before?”

“It’s possible,” Perry replied as he opened the door. “Do you read the papers?” The two men walked out to the curb. Leaving an open-mouthed Dorian Faltz behind. Paul opened his own mouth to make a smart comment, but Perry cut him off before he could begin. “You enjoyed that entirely too much.”

“Awww. Give a guy a break, Perry.”

Mason looked as unamused as Paul had ever seen him.

“Look, any wannabe detective would barely have to connect the dots that fellow was laying out. The Redwood is just about two blocks from the Brent Building. A lawyer and his secretary out together, ahem,” he cleared his throat meaningfully before a chuckle escaped him. “Canoodling? A good looking brunette? You gotta admit, he _could_ have been talking about you and Della.”

“Della’s eyes aren’t dark.”

“Uh-huh.” He wondered if Perry had any clue just how far gone he was. “I’m not suggesting you to kiss and tell, but stop for a minute and try to see how it looks to the rest of us poor saps.”

“How exactly does it look?”

Paul was unruffled by the threatening edge in Perry’s voice. “Della’s a good looking girl.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t suppose it would occur to you that other people notice that.”

The hardening of Perry’s features indicated that it did, in fact, occur to him.

“And it might look like the boss and his secretary are up to more than work after hours. If only,” he added hastily as Perry fixed him with a flinty gaze, “because other people wish they were so lucky.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“A boss who knows what color his secretary’s eyes are is not a boss who’s not looking.”

“You know what color Della’s eyes are.”

“Sure I do. Della’s got beautiful eyes. I know what color a lot of girls’ eyes are. What color are Gertie’s?”

“They’re…” Perry frowned.

“They’re blue.”

“You could have given me more than ten seconds.”

“You know, a lawyer friend of mine would rip a witness with a story as weak as yours to shreds on the witness stand.”

The frown was an outright scowl now. “Regardless, my point stands. The couple Faltz described doesn’t match Della and I that closely.”

“An unreliable eyewitness and shoddy police work? Will wonders never cease? It’s close enough. You know as soon as homicide heard the name Perry Mason they didn’t ask any more questions.”

“Holcomb maybe. Tragg wouldn’t leave it at that. There’s something more going on here.”

“I’m sure you noticed that there was nothing in this morning’s paper about a murder in Lynwood. Or anywhere else for that matter.”

“I noticed. If they’re keeping this buttoned up so tight the press hasn’t gotten wind of it, how did you manage to get the police file to me?”

“Well, it sure wasn’t easy, I can tell you that!”

“And you’ve got nothing on our murder victim?”

“Nothing. I double checked the name in the file, but it’s like the man doesn’t exist. There is no record of an Aaron Graves ever having resided at that address, or one matching his description living anywhere in the greater Los Angeles area.” Drake shrugged. “You know, it is possible the police identified the body wrong.”

Perry only stared past Paul in response, his mind wrestling with the conundrum.

“I assume my next assignment is to book it out to the Westhills Motel in Inglewood and start digging.”

The attorney shook his head. “You should go home and get some shut eye before you head out there. We’re so far behind this time we might as well stop killing ourselves trying to catch up.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but chances are the police have the lady in question in custody already.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“So…you don’t think she stayed in Inglewood? Why not?” Paul tried desperately to catch the Perry’s train of thought.

“Della’s purse.”

“Which Faltz found in the cab.” It was hopeless.

“And soaked in blood, Paul. Where did the blood come from?”

Paul shrugged, “That poor sap who took a letter opener to the chest?”

“You’re not thinking, Paul.”

“I’m too tired to think; I’m barely standing. You suspect this Faltz guy might be lying about what happened Thursday night?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that the Redwood isn’t just two blocks from the Brent Building. It’s also only two blocks from the Los Angeles Criminal Justice Center and the Courthouse.”


	8. Chapter 8

He was missing something. Perry sent Paul on home alone and took a walk along the boulevard. He thought better when he walked. All of the pieces of the puzzle were floating around him. The trouble was they could come together in a number of different ways. He just needed to be sure of one piece they could anchor to without leaving something unaccounted for.

He didn’t like any of the possibilities he could see so far. Someone had found Della’s purse, taken it, bloodied it, and returned it to the taxicab. Why? If they were trying to frame her, why take out her identification? And why return the purse to the taxi if they weren’t?

Perry scowled at the sidewalk. More worrisome was that if Dorian Faltz’s declarations were true, whoever had done this knew who she was. Knew she was his secretary and had used his name to link them both to a murder.

Why were the police keeping everything as quiet as they could? Who was the mysterious Aaron Graves? Perry had a few scant clues and a thousand suppositions. His feet pounded the pavement. No, he didn’t like it at all. Someone was using Della. It made him angry all over again. What could she have possibly done to anyone? He didn’t know a single soul who had a kinder heart, no matter how hard-boiled her exterior. No, surely Della was just a convenient tool to get at him. Perry was the one who made enemies at every turn. He was the one who dished it out and he could take it. She was just an innocent bystander.

Maybe innocent was the wrong word. He stopped abruptly, letting his gaze drift up to the treetops and the impossibly blue sky. No, Della wasn’t innocent at all. She was worldly in ways he rarely let himself really contemplate. She was attractive. Hell, she was flat out gorgeous, and his determined ignorance of that fact was a matter of survival. He had known from the first day she started working for him that if he allowed himself to consider how worldly she might or might not be, he was doomed.

For a man who overcame seemingly impossible obstacles with every case he tackled, he had failed spectacularly. He had fallen head over heels despite his attempts, and she had rocked his own worldly self last night with scarcely more than a kiss. She had kissed him and he had nearly lost his mind for want of her. He’d have felt suitably embarrassed to be so easily led if he had been able to quell the giddiness bubbling inside at the very thought.

She had kissed him. She had melted beneath his touch and he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had felt so right in his arms. Had one ever? There was no way to tell, because when he held Della he didn’t seem to think at all. Perry knew he would have to think eventually. He needed to tread carefully if he wanted more. There wasn’t even a question. He wanted more. Even…well, even if she didn’t want to marry him.

Her rejection of his proposal, if his half-assed, blurted statement could even be called that, had been surprising. That it had hurt in that first moment, had surprised him. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand she had fears; it was a scary thing to risk the friendship they had for something unknown. He just didn’t share them. Kissing her hadn’t felt like the unknown at all. It felt just as right as sitting next to her in the courtroom. Just as right as dinner, dancing, or dictation. Della was what was right.

Perry pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one loose casually. He was being followed. They were reasonably good. If Perry hadn’t thrown them with his sudden stop he might have missed it entirely. A professional then, probably a police detective. It laid another choice before him. Letting his tail continue to purse him was one sure way to get more information. And the more he considered it, the more he was decided on the course of action. It would kill two birds with one stone so to speak. It would encourage some information sharing from Tragg and make sure Della was out of the way.

Perry walked up to a filling station pay phone and dropped in a dime. He put a call through to his physician, explained what he needed and then caught a cab heading back into downtown. He glanced in the rear view mirror. He wasn’t going to have a lot of time. He hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to sell Della on his plan.

Perry entered the Brentwood and seeing the concierge was occupied slipped up the stairs unnoticed to catch the elevator on the first floor. They’d have company soon enough. He’d left enough clues for the officers hunting him down.

He walked into the room and his eyes immediately found the empty bed. The sound of the running shower let him know where Della had gotten to. Perry hoped she was nearly done. He doubted very much she would want to greet visitors undressed. He knocked lightly on the bathroom door and called her name but got no response. He frowned and knocked again, cracking the door as he called, “Della?”

A cloud of steam billowed up out of the open door. Still no response. Fear gripped him. She had slept restlessly, coughing on and off in her sleep throughout the remainder of the night. And this morning she had sounded awful. What if her fever had spiked again? What if her breathing had gotten worse?

Perry stepped into the hazy, hot room, “Della? Della are you al—” He pulled back the shower curtain and dropped to his knees next to the claw-footed tub when he saw her.

Della sat under the stream of water with her knees pulled tightly to her chest, her breathing open-mouthed and shallow. She turned her eyes towards him in surprise and he thought he saw his name on her lips, but he couldn’t hear any sound she made over the running water.

Perry shut off the taps. Rivulets of water streamed down her back, her skin bright pink from the heat of shower. Perry tried very hard to ignore where those trails were leading and reached up to pull a fluffy, white towel off the bar. He wrapped it around her and ran his fingers through the wet curls adhered to her forehead. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, “—fine.” He managed to make out the end of her sentence as she forced air over obstructed vocal chords. She attempted to clear them, but her next words were no easier to hear. “—thought the—would help. —did you—” Della stopped trying, the rest of her breath coming out in a dejected huff. He could just make out her next whisper. “I hate this.”

“Can I get you anything?”

She shook her head before letting it rest against her knees again.

Perry rubbed her back gently. “I’ll fill you in on everything, I promise, but first I need you to get dressed. Company’s coming.”

Wanting to hold her, but acutely aware of both her near nakedness and her misery, he did the next best thing and put hands beneath her elbows to help her stand. How strange that wrapped in a towel she was even more tantalizing than she had been a moment ago, completely bare.

Perry thought about offering assistance of some kind and decided against it. His growing desire to peel the towel from her was enough to convince him he would be more hinderance than help. He left the room so she could dry off in privacy and sat down to wait.

He watched as she padded out to fetch her clothing, his eyes falling the length of her long legs, exposed from thigh to her rather enticing bare feet. Perry had always liked it when she kicked her shoes off at the office, when work days ran into evenings and evenings ran into nights so late they might as well be mornings. It was a gesture that spoke of intimacy and comfort. He ran a hand over his face.

She left the door to the bathroom open on her return and he began giving her the gist of what he and Paul had heard from Faltz. Something clattered to the floor when he got to the part about the man using his name. Perry decided not to mention Paul’s comments on what their relationship looked like to those on the outside. That was a snarl he’d have to untangle with her eventually, but he wasn’t about to let that derail them now.

Della appeared again, this time attired in capris and a polo shirt, still sans shoes he noted. Her hair was a mass of tousled damp brown curls that begged to be further ruffled by his hands, but her quick application of makeup had not hidden her pallor or the dark rings beneath her eyes. She sat next to him on the bed and Perry jumped up, suddenly aware that he needed to put some distance between them or he was going to do something foolish.

He began to pace at the end of the bed out of habit, but he managed to stop himself after his first turn. The expression Della favored him with when she had pushed herself back to lean against the headboard was dispirited in a way he didn’t think he had ever seen from her. She needed to rest. She needed a chance to recover. All things that reassured him that his plan was the right one.

“Do you remember Thomas Harley?”

She nodded slowly. “Your doct—.”

“Mmmhmm. He’ll be here in a few minutes to check you out and take you to a hospital.”

Confusion flashed across her face. “What? Why?” she whispered fiercely. “—a cold.”

“I know. But you’re sick enough it isn’t much of a stretch to have you under a physician’s care. And while you’re in the hospital Dr. Harley will make sure the police won’t be allowed to ask you questions or otherwise harass you.”

He watched confusion change to irritation. “—can handle—not one of—who need to—put under—in hysterics—” Della broke down into a fit of coughing.

Perry smiled in spite of himself at the blistering tirade he was only getting parts of, and sat at the end of the bed. Sick or not, there was the fiery Della Street he knew and loved. He reached out and ran a hand along the top of one irresistible foot. He made himself stop at her ankle. It wouldn’t be fair to say he had initiated the contact to calm her when he found it so soothing himself. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary to put you out. I just need to know you’ll be able to rest undisturbed after homicide gets here.”

Her irritation became concern. “How—they find out—to arrest—?”

“I let a detective I suspect was Lieutenant Anderson follow me back from La Habra. And no, after hearing that driver’s statement I think they’d rather arrest me than you.”

“Chief!” Concern transformed to horror in a flash. “You can’t—”

The rest of Della’s statement was lost as a knock sounded at the door and Perry got up to admit Dr. Thomas Harley. A balding man with a droll bedside manner, he greeted Perry with an affable, “Where’s my patient?”

Perry indicated Della and glanced into the hall before closing the door. No sign yet of the police. Perry wondered how much longer it would take Anderson to figure out which room was theirs.

Harley unpacked a few items and began his examination, his face becoming more serious as it continued. Finally, after he had listened to Della breathe for several moments, he pulled the stethoscope from his ears and turned to Perry. “It seems I misunderstood. I was under the impression this was another of your schemes to keep a client out of police custody temporarily.”

“It is.”

Harley’s eyebrows went up.

Perry tried not to let worry creep into his voice “Will it be a difficult sell?”

“Hardly. I don’t like the sound of her lungs. Better to treat these things before they’re so serious hospitalization is the only recourse.”

Perry swallowed hard as he nodded.

Della looked at the doctor skeptically and Harley turned to her, seemingly unaware the impact his words were having on the attorney. “This sort of thing has a tendency toward pneumonia. A course of corticosteroids to combat the inflammation will have you breathing easily, and plenty of rest will make sure we stay ahead of it,” he finished kindly.

Harley made a call to order an ambulance and Perry moved to the space he had vacated at Della’s side. Perry laced his fingers through her slim, strong ones.

“It isn’t that bad,” Della whispered. “You don’t—to protect me like—.”

“I do…Please let me.”

“How—it help anyone if—arrest you?”

There was a loud banging on the door.

“That will be Homicide.”

“Perry, don’t—” Another bout of coughing halted Della’s plea.

Mason opened the door with a flourish to admit an angry looking Lieutenant Anderson and a coterie of police officers.“You have a lot of nerve, Mason—” Andy began before pulling up short as he took in Della’s wracked form. “What’s going on here?”

Dr. Harley gave Anderson a distasteful look before fishing through his black bag. He pulled out a syringe and a bottle. “I’ll thank you not to disturb my patient any further, Mr…”

“Lieutenant Anderson. What’s wrong with Miss Street?”

“I am not in the habit of breaking doctor-patient confidentiality, Lieutenant, but I think it should be obvious. Miss Street is ill and needs treatment.”

“That’s all well and good, but she’s a person of interest in a murder case, Doctor.”

“That’s no concern of mine.” Harley filled the syringe and as Della’s spasm eased, slipped it into her arm. The look she shot Perry practically shouted of betrayal. He was going to catch hell for that later. “Now, if you gentlemen would step outside,” the physician continued, “my patient needs to rest.”

Anderson scowled. “And when exactly will she be able to answer some questions?”

Perry cut in. “When she’s feeling better and her lawyer is present.”

“We have a few questions we’d like to ask you as well, Mr. Mason.”

“Then by all means, let’s step outside so you can ask them.”

“If you think I’m about to let Miss Street out of my sight, you’re in for an unpleasant surprise.”

“She’s under a doctor’s care. She isn’t going into hiding.”

“And what exactly do you call this cozy little nest you have for yourself here?”

Perry’s eyes hardened but he forced a smile. It wouldn’t do to let the lieutenant get a rise out of him. “A necessity when my client is being hounded unlawfully by the police.”

“Out!” Harley snarled, all easy bedside manner gone from his person.

Della’s eyes had drifted shut. Perry took a last look at her and strode from the room. Andy and the two officers with him followed.

“The lobby will be sufficient, don’t you think? I’ll know you aren’t harassing Miss Street and you’ll be able to see that I’m not spiriting her away somewhere.”

“Fine,” was the terse reply. They went down the elevator together. Perry seated himself in an overstuffed chair near the phone booths. “Do you need to wait for Tragg or would you like to question me now?”

Anderson bristled but quickly brought himself under control. “I have a feeling you’re not the type of person who will answer a question more than once.”

“Very perceptive of you.”

“It appears to be in my interest to wait then, doesn’t it.”

“If you say so.” Perry smiled at the frowning detective and sat placidly under the stern gazes of the watching policemen as the minutes ticked by.

Tragg looked as tired as Perry had ever seen him when he arrived. “Well, Counselor. I’m glad we could finally track you down.” He glanced around. “Where is the lovely Miss Street?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Anderson rolled his eyes. “She’s upstairs in room 804.”

Perry shrugged.

“You have a man in the room?” Tragg asked.

“No. Her doctor insisted on our leaving, but he knocked her out. She isn’t going anywhere.”

Tragg sighed. “You’d better send a man up, but I doubt anyone will be there. Mr. Mason likes to pull this particular trick on the unsuspecting. Where would the ambulance be, Perry? The service entrance? You might catch them in the freight elevator if you’re lucky.”

Anderson’s face contorted and he took off for the stairs, the two uniformed officers hot on his heels.

“Andy’s smart, Perry. I wouldn’t expect to get away with that again if I were you.”

“I appreciate the warning. I’ll be sure to have a new trick up my sleeve next time.”

Tragg shook his head. “Let’s get down to it, Counselor. You’ve had your fun, but I need Della to actually answer some questions.”

“And I need to know exactly why that is. Who is Aaron Graves?”

The look on Tragg’s face was resigned rather than surprised. “Someone Paul Drake won’t find, no matter how hard he looks.”

“An alias then. For an undercover officer? Internal affairs?” A piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“The trouble with you, Perry, is that you’re too smart. Surely you can see it’s a lot more likely a client gave you this information than you happening to figure it all out on your own. It’s why you look so guilty.”

“I expected you to see past Mr. Faltz’s poor identification.”

“I don’t get to rule anything plausible out. My job is to investigate. What the District Attorney thinks he can prove is his business.”

“And yet, there’s no warrant out for my arrest. Or Della’s. Burger can’t be so sure of his case.”

“Or he’s giving you enough rope to hang yourself. An officer is dead, Perry, and you’re tangled up in it. We’re going to make sure to nail the killer.”

“Della wasn’t ever at your crime scene.”

“And yet her purse was.”

“Someone took it from the back of a cab.”

“And then helpfully returned it.” Tragg shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the first time you came across a body.”

“If I had, I would have contacted the police.”

“Eventually, I’m sure. After having spirited your client away. You have a habit of following the letter of the law at the expense of it’s intent, Counselor.”

“Faltz didn’t mention a third person on the return trip,” he said musingly. “What did the autopsy find? When was Graves killed?”

“Your client didn’t share that piece of information with you?”

Perry smiled. “I realize it goes against the grain Tragg, but suppose for a moment that what I’ve been telling you is the truth.”

“Alright,” he sighed. “I’m supposing.”

“What was Graves investigating?”

“I can’t tell you that, and you know it.”

“If it was something inside the department, I know how to find your killer.”

“How?” Tragg asked cautiously.

“We give him a chance to frame Della and I again. I give you her whereabouts and you make sure everyone on this case knows about it.”

“And what do you get in return for this cooperation?”

“About forty-eight hours. I’ll let you know where she is Monday morning.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Good morning, Miss Street! Already up and about I see. How are you feeling?”

Monday morning had arrived with the sparkling, radiant, southern California sunshine that made Los Angeles such an enjoyable place to live for so many. The matron on shift seemed to have absorbed that sunshine and was exuding cheerfulness like a lightbulb gave off heat. She set a small package wrapped in plain brown butcher paper on the end of Della’s bed and then bustled about the nearly empty ward fulfilling her nursing duties.

In spite of all that sparkle, Della was staring moodily out the hospital room window. She was nursing a solid resentment. Perry had sidelined her, and Della hated being left behind. Yes, she was sick, but he had said it himself when he was fighting the same thing. _It’s just a cold._

“Much better, thank you,” she answered at long last.

If one day in the hospital had been too long, two had Della itching to leave. Besides, she felt so much better than she had twenty-four hours ago, let alone forty-eight. Well, at least she felt physically better. She hadn’t been convinced by Dr. Harley’s grim predictions, but she couldn’t deny that the medication she had been given and the enforced sleeping had helped. Her voice might still be slightly lower than normal, but she could be heard again.

“I know how cooped up you must feel. A vibrant young thing like you. I’m sure the doctor will give the okay to discharge you any time now,” the older woman said kindly.

Della forced a tight smile at the woman’s flattery. “If only he were the one I have to convince.”

It wasn't the first time Perry had done something like this when he felt things were getting dangerous. He often left her at the office to man phones, meet clients, and have a place to check in with while he ran about with Paul getting into trouble. But at least when she was at the office she had something useful to do. At the hospital she had nothing to do but wait. She was going to go crazy.

Perry hadn’t even come by to see her. At first she worried his absence meant he was being detained by the police at best, or in jail at worst. But Paul had come by on Perry’s instructions and informed her that was not the case. Perry Mason was just being Perry Mason, wrapped up in a case, oblivious to the world.

She wanted to be there. She wanted to be tossing ideas back and forth as they considered the various possibilities in the case. She even wanted to be scolding him for his crazy risk-taking or a madcap stunt. She wanted it to be like it had always been.

But it wasn’t. He had said it himself. _Everything has changed._ What if, she hated herself for thinking it, but what if his absence was because she had kissed him? Had she been unceremoniously demoted to mistress despite her plea for their working relationship to continue unchanged? It was possible Perry just couldn’t stomach the notion of sleeping with someone in his employ. He hadn’t pursued her before, despite the evidence that he wanted to. Her whole body flushed with arousal every time she thought of that evidence.

Della had never known the foundations of Perry’s moral compass to waver in the pursuit of justice. The man had all the moral fiber of a boy scout hidden beneath the mind of a devil. But she wasn’t so sure that compass was as reliable when it came to the pursuit of women. She tried not to pay close attention to the women that paraded through his office and his life. It was easier that way. Maybe she had asked more than he could give.

“Well, you’ve already had one visitor today. Maybe your handsome young man will come back again,” the nurse said with wink.

“My handsome—” Della trailed off, her heart fluttering traitorously in her chest at the thought that Perry had come after all. No. She was angry with him. Her gaze fell on the package. “A man came this morning?”

“Oh no, dear. A young lady. I just thought that extremely charming young man who stopped by yesterday might make a return visit.”

“Ah, Paul,” Della smiled genuinely this time. Paul’s visit the day before had also brought the clothing she had left behind at the hotel. There was one clean outfit left and she felt almost ready for a work day in the teal shirtwaist dress. “Well, you’re right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“When he turns on the charm no single woman in a five hundred foot radius is safe.”

“If I were twenty years younger!” the matron laughed. “But don’t worry,” she added consolingly, fear she had hurt Della’s feelings in her eyes. “A little harmless flirting with the other girls. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. He seemed very devoted to you.”

Della shook her head and picked up the paper package. “Who was it?”

“Who, dear?”

“The woman who came this morning. Did she leave this?”

“Yes. She didn’t mention her name. Just left the package. She said you might appreciate having some of your things.”

Della frowned, slipped a finger between the edges of the wrapping and peeled apart the adhesive. She gasped as the paper came loose. Her wallet, keys, and compact lay inside. All of them stained with blood. The matron had started moving back towards her at the sound of her surprise and Della pulled the wrapping back together hastily, clutching it in tightly her hand.

“How long ago did she leave this?” Della asked quickly.

“She dropped it at the nurses’ station just before I came down here. Is everything all right?”

“What did she look like?”

“Look like?”

“Yes!”

The matron stuttered slightly. “She, um, looked like a working girl. I…I thought maybe she might be a friend of yours.”

“What was she wearing, what color was her hair, her skin? Was there anything about her that stood out? Tell me what she looked like,” Della demanded sharply.

The nurse stared at Della as if she had just discovered that a particularly cute kitten had some very sharp claws. “She…she had on a grey wool jacket and hat, I think. Brunette. Though her complexion was darker than yours. Oh, I did notice she had on the loveliest shade of lipstick—”

Della bolted from the room. The cries of the nurse were lost to the pounding in her ears, and all her worries about being left behind were erased in the rush of adventure. If it had only been a few minutes, and if she was very lucky, maybe she could identify the woman whose lipstick had been in her purse. She glanced up at the elevator dial as she reached the end of the hall. It was settling on the ground floor. Della took the stairs as fast as she could without twisting an ankle in her heels. Why did she always seem to find herself in them in situations like these? For once she couldn’t blame Perry.

She sprinted through the lobby drawing stares from patients and staff alike. Bursting out into the sun she thought she saw the top of a grey hat slipping into a cab. She pulled the door of the next available taxi open and threw herself into the back. “Follow the cab that just pulled out into traffic. Number seventeen twenty-nine,” she instructed breathlessly.

The driver nodded and pulled out onto the main thoroughfare. Della sat on the edge of the seat, trying to keep her eye on the taxi a few cars ahead of them. A large truck pulled out in between them and Della huffed in frustration.

“Can’t you get around him?”

“Relax, lady. We can’t follow them if we wreck.”

A few more moments passed before the driver was able to pull around the heavily laden rig. Della couldn’t see the other taxi anywhere. They slowed as the cabbie looked down side streets they passed.

“Aha!” he cried as he spotted their quarry.

Taxicab number 1729 was stopped in front of a building Della knew all too well, but it’s passenger was no longer in sight. She jumped out and looked around wildly.

“Hey! That’ll be five fifty.”

Della fumbled awkwardly with the bundle in her hands and came up with a ten. She pressed it into the driver’s hand and rushed up the wide, white steps into the Spring Street Courthouse, home of Los Angeles County’s Superior Court.

Her quarry was no where in sight. Della found herself standing stock still in the middle of the courthouse lobby with a handful of incriminating evidence, never mind that she herself was a person of interest in a murder. The thrill she had felt hoping that she could break open the case vanished, replaced with a horrible sinking feeling. She had run straight into the lion’s den.

Della turned and walked hastily to the ladies room. She had only long enough to wonder if she was going to be able to get out of the building without drawing unwanted attention to herself before she noticed she was not alone. A neatly dressed young woman was touching up her makeup in the mirror. Shoulder length brunette curls were neatly coiffed under a grey felt hat and as she pulled her lipstick out of her purse, lipstick that was a deep shade of violet, Della’s mouth fell open.

Well. Clicking her teeth together so hard it hurt she tucked the package carefully behind her with one hand and sidled up to the mirror. Della made a show of checking her own lipstick. “That’s such a pretty color.”

The woman jumped. “Oh! You startled me.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Della tilted her head as she regarded the woman before her. She seemed young, maybe younger than she really was, and frightened, but Della saw no recognition in her eyes. “I don’t think I could get away with it.”

“Get away with…I don’t—”

“That color.”

“Oh.” She laughed nervously. “Of course. I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Della’s smile was rueful. “I’ve felt like that for days. Since last Thursday in fact.”

The girl’s face turned ashen. In spite of herself, Della felt a sudden rush of maternal concern. There was no way the woman before her was a cold-hearted killer. “Excuse me. I—I should go. I had better get back to work. I’ve been away too long as it is.”

“You work here? Who for?”

“The District Attorney’s office.”

Della kept her expression neutral despite her surprise. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Amelia. Amelia Arden. I’m sorry, I really need to be going.”

“I’m Della,” she said holding out her free hand to the other woman. “Della Street.” She brought the brown paper wrapped bundle forward. “I think you had better come with me.”

The gasp from the the girl was as pitiable a thing as Della had ever heard. Miss Arden grabbed the sink basin to steady herself; she looked faint. “I swear, it was all a horrible accident! Are you…are you going to turn me over to the police?”

“I don’t think so. I think you need to talk with my boss.”

“Your boss?”

“Perry Mason.”

“Oh. Oh no. Perry Mason? I couldn’t,” she whispered almost to herself. “What would Chester say?”

Della shook her head. “I don’t think it matters much what Chester might say. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

Tears welled in Miss Arden’s dark eyes. “I didn’t know what to do! There was…there was…so…so much blood,” she sobbed, beginning to hyperventilate.

“Hey now, take a deep breath.” Della grabbed her hand instinctively. “That’s it, honey. Come to the office with me and we’ll see what can be done. The Chief works miracles on a weekly basis.”

“But…but I can’t afford an attorney like him. Why would he help me?”

“I think he’s going to want to hear what you have to say.”

Della had Amelia take a few more steadying breaths before ushering the jittery girl out into the lobby. She started for the main doors and froze. The cabbie who had driven her from the hospital was standing in the doorway talking with a police officer. He was gesturing at a bill in his hands. The ten dollar bill she had given him. Had there been blood on it too?

Della turned Amelia abruptly and headed for the side door Perry preferred when he wanted to avoid the press. Back out under the sun, she tried not to look over her shoulder constantly as they walked down Main Street to Third. The six blocks to the Brent Building had never seemed so long. Della wouldn’t feel safe until they were ensconced in the office and Perry could get the girl’s story.

When they finally entered suite 904 Gertie greeted them enthusiastically. “Della! Are you feeling better? Mr. Mason said you’d be out again today.”

“Quite a bit, thanks Gertie. Is the chief with anyone?”

“Oh no. He left half an hour ago in quite a hurry.”

“Did he say when he’d be back?”

“I’m afraid not,” Gertie shrugged. It was just a normal day in the office of Perry Mason, Attorney at Law.

Della nodded. “Let me know if he checks in.”

“Sure thing.”

“Oh, and Gertie. We need to talk to Mr. Mason before we talk with anyone else who might come looking.”

Gertie gave Della a sharp nod and a smile, after all, even if delaying overly eager officers of the law wasn’t an every day occurrence, it certainly wasn’t out of the ordinary. Della escorted Miss Arden through her office and into the law library after making sure Jackson was not holed up in there.

Amelia seemed to have recovered herself somewhat upon their arrival. “You must be so angry with me. I don’t think there’s anything that will make up for getting you into this mess. But you have to believe I didn’t kill anyone. He was already dead.”

“Don’t tell me,” Della said firmly but not unkindly. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. But until Mr. Mason is officially representing you, whatever you say isn’t a confidential communication.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s alright. If you like, we can talk about something else. What do you do for the District Attorney?”

“Nothing terrible exciting. I work in the steno pool. It’s a way to make ends meet.” She brightened slightly. “The last few months I’ve been getting more assignments outside it, though.”

“It’s nice to be appreciated for your work, isn’t it?”

Amelia nodded. “The best part is that I’ve been working with…well, oh. I suppose I shouldn’t say.”

Della quashed her curiosity. “How about I get you something to drink? Would you like some coffee? I haven’t had a cup yet myself this morning.”

Amelia agreed that coffee sounded nice and Della excused herself to prepare it. She ducked into Perry’s private office first though and put the wrapped parcel into the safe there. Now she was concealing evidence. Wonderful. Perry was definitely rubbing off on her.

Della brought the coffee tray into the law library. “Cream or sugar?”

“No thank you.”

Della had no sooner added a touch of cream to her own when the door leading to the inner office burst open. “Chief!”

Her excitement at seeing Perry faded in the face of the tightness in his jaw. His eyes blazed, but he said nothing as he tried to master himself.

He took two quick steps toward her and stopped, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Della stood slowly. “Everything alright, Chief?”

“Are you out of your damn mind?” he barked. In the space of a heartbeat he had closed the distance between them. His grasping hands found purpose as he took hold of her upper arms and shook her.

“Perry—” Della began, finding her voice.

“Do you have any idea what I—What the devil were you thinking running off like that?!”

“I was thinking we had a chance to find out who had taken my purse.”

His grip didn’t lessen in the slightest. She could feel the tips of her fingers beginning to tingle. “And it never occurred to you that you shouldn’t have been chasing a possible killer? That was incredibly dangerous!”

Della’s delicately arched eyebrows rose. “If I hadn’t—”

“If you hadn’t,” Perry cut in. “Tragg’s men would have managed just fine.”

She flushed, embarrassed and irritated in equal measure. He had set it up. Of course he had. She didn’t know what was worse, that he had let her be the bait without telling her or that she hadn’t realized his play at all. Della pushed back against him but he didn’t let her go.

“Mr. Mason,” she said firmly with a gesture of her head. “This is Miss Amelia Arden.”

Perry released Della so suddenly she almost fell back over her chair. He turned on the nervous looking young woman seated at the conference table and she stood shakily. “I’m very sorry Mr. Mason. I didn’t mean for you or your secretary to get into trouble.”

“The police are on their way here,” he said coldly.

“Oh! I…please. I didn’t…” Miss Arden sat down hard and swallowed, tears filling her eyes once again.

“Perry,” Della hissed. “I realize you’re upset with me, but please…I think you ought to hear her out.”

Mason’s face lost none of its rigidity but his eyes softened as they searched Della’s. Whatever he saw in them must have changed his mind. He turned back to the woman at the table. “If you want my help you’ll tell me everything. Understand?”

“About Thursday night?”

“About Thursday night and anything else I want to know. Della, get your notebook.”

Della ran back into the inner office and pulled open the drawer on Perry’s desk reserved for her. She grabbed pencils, a steno pad, and then after a moment’s thought, a handkerchief, before she returned to the library.

She sat back down just as Miss Arden began her tale. “I…I was out with a friend. We had dinner and he said we’d go to the observatory afterwards to look at the stars. It was such a nice evening. And then…then I found Miss Street’s purse in the taxicab and it all went wrong.” A tear rolled down her cheek and Della passed her the handkerchief.

Her voice shook, but Amelia managed to continue. “My friend remembered an important appointment he had to keep and I agreed to postpone our outing briefly so he could do so. He said it wouldn’t take long and that we’d be gazing at the stars in no time. But…but…” She took a deep breath. “The man he was supposed to meet was dead. There was blood all over the floor. I’d never seen anything so awful. I dropped your purse.” She looked sadly at Della. “Mine too. I picked them up, but yours had come open and there was blood on everything. I didn’t know what to do. My friend said we should go. That he’d call the police, but that it would be better if we weren’t there since, well, we didn’t know anything about what had happened anyway.

“He..he said I should leave the purse there. But how could I? I…it just didn’t seem right for the police to find it. So I took the things I thought would identify Miss Street with me. I don’t know how they found out it was hers.

“We took the cab back downtown and he told me I should take it on to a hotel and pretend like I was going to stay there. He met me there in his car and took me home.”

Perry remained thoughtfully silent throughout. When Amelia finished he frowned down at her. “You left Della’s purse at the crime scene?”

Della shot Perry a glance and he nodded.

“Yes, my friend insisted. There wasn’t as much on mine. He didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“Who were you out with?”

“It can’t possibly matter, can it? I mean, he didn’t know anything about it either! I’m sure. He was so startled when we found the body he nearly knocked me over!”

“Why are you trying to protect him?”

“He…you have to understand. His position. If it got out that he was mixed up in a murder case, even mistakenly, it would look just terribly for him. He’d lose his job, a promising career. I just can’t let that happen.”

Perry didn’t soften his tone in the slightest. “Is his livelihood more important than your life? Because that’s what you’re going to be fighting for.”

“But I didn’t—”

“There’s evidence you were at the crime scene.”

“I was wearing gloves! I didn’t leave any fingerprints.”

“The police have your lipstick. And now they’ll have proof you had Della’s purse.”

“But surely, if you’re representing me everything I’ve told you is confidential.” Amelia shot Della a fearful look.

“What you’ve told me is, but the evidence isn’t.”

Della bit her tongue. Did he know she had tucked her wallet and other things in the safe? The items had been at a crime scene, but were they technically evidence of a crime?

Perry shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t defend you.”

“What?!”

“If you won’t be completely honest with me I won’t represent you. I won’t be hamstrung in your defense because you’re trying to protect someone who clearly isn’t worthy of your protection.”

“But he is!” Della could hear a tinge of desperation in Amelia’s hero worship. Fear that a man she loved might be less than he ought to be creeping into her protests. “I left the purse there like he said. I was the one who took Miss Street’s things. It was my mistake!”

“Did he remember his appointment after you found the purse?”

“Why does that matter?”

“He told you to leave it all. He tried to pass the buck onto Della and myself.”

“But he just didn’t want me to get into trouble. I know it.”

“Well, you’re in trouble now. Will he come forward, or will he leave you to face this thing alone?”

“It…it doesn’t matter because I don’t want him to.” Amelia said defiantly.

“Who told you Della was in the hospital?”

“Well, I happened to overhear…he…no, it was just dumb luck that I heard him talking about it.” Amelia was shaking.

“Amelia,” Della said kindly. “You might as well tell us. I know you work for the District Attorney’s office. It won’t be difficult for us to find out who he is. I think you even mentioned his first name when we spoke in the ladies room.”

Horror crossed Miss Arden’s pretty face. “Oh, no please. I…”

“If he’s innocent of wrong doing I won’t bring him into it,” Perry said gruffly. “But if he isn’t and you won’t tell me, I’m walking out that door and the next people through it will be Homicide.”

Amelia Arden dropped her eyes and stared at the table top. Perry seemed to loom over her for all he was waiting patiently. “I was with Chester Ellis.”

His eyes found Della’s once more. Chester Ellis, the assistant district attorney who had volunteered to help Della when she had been an unwilling guest of the Los Angeles Homicide Department. He shook his head and pity swelled in Della’s breast for this girl. A girl who loved a man so much more than he seemed to love her. It might not be murder, but it was awful just the same. Della found herself staring at Perry’s uncompromising mein.

Perry would never hide behind her no matter how insistently she tried to protect him. He wouldn’t ever let her suffer to advance his own interests. Now her hands were the ones trembling, comprehension hitting her like an adrenaline fueled freight train. When he said he didn’t care what an intimate relationship with her might do to his own livelihood it wasn’t just pillow talk. He meant every word.

Perry loved her. And while she hadn’t doubted it on its face, she certainly believed he loved adventure just as much. As soon as he had professed it she began pushing him out to arms length, shying away from him in her fear that she would be too hurt when she inevitably came in second. But hadn’t he willingly waited to let her dictate the terms of the arrangement at the expense of his own pride, his own desires as soon as she had turned down his proposal? The import of those actions only struck home now as she stared across the table at a girl she could have been if she had fallen in love with anyone less worthy than Perry Mason. It was a good thing she was sitting down.

“Alright then. You’re to make no more statements to anyone. Not to the police, not to the District Attorney, not even to Mr. Ellis. From here on out, if I’m not there the only thing you’ll talk about is what wonderful weather we’re having. Can you do that?”

Miss Arden nodded morosely.

“I mean it. You’re to say nothing.”

“I understand!” she snapped.

Perry seemed satisfied enough with her reaction. Della’s ears perked up at the sound of Gertie’s exasperated voice coming from beyond the door to the main office. It opened and a flustered Gertie was pushed aside by Lieutenants Tragg and Anderson. “Amelia Arden?” Tragg began. She looked up in confirmation. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.”

“Do you have a warrant, Tragg?”

“What kind of question is that, Mason?” Anderson asked. “I thought you were cooperating with us on this.”

“An important one, Lieutenant, to ensure my client’s rights aren’t being violated.”

Tragg shook his head. “Oh, _now_ she’s your client, is she?”

Perry shrugged. “Now she is.”

“Fortunately, I came prepared. I do have an arrest warrant, Counselor. For murder.”

The detectives escorted Miss Arden out. Della closed her notebook before getting unsteadily to her feet and following Perry back into his office. He sat down at his desk and reached for a cigarette. “Get Paul on the phone. I want to know everything there is to know about Chester Ellis.”

Della nodded, but didn’t pick up the receiver in front of her. She couldn’t speak; the intensity of her emotions had nearly choked her.

“What?” Perry asked when he finally realized she was just staring at him.

Della threw herself into his lap and kissed him until her lungs screamed in protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter is up a little later than usual! It turned out to be longer than I expected and I couldn’t find a break point that I liked. On the upside, that means I’m probably going to add another chapter in the form of fluff and romance before the mystery gets wrapped up as originally intended. I hope that’s a good thing. :D
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me through this!


	10. Chapter 10

For his part, Perry seemed wholly taken aback by Della’s sudden fit of amorousness. Maybe it was because she had pinned him in his chair. Maybe it was because in the whirl of the case he had forgotten that she had kissed him only a few nights ago. Had it been so forgettable for him? It certainly hadn’t been for her. It was seared in her memory, branded red-hot into her flesh, only waiting to be stoked into an inferno. How on earth could he have done that to her without being burned himself?

She broke away to catch her breath and a horrible thought caught her. Oh god. He had barely touched her since that kiss. She had been naked in the shower and he had just walked away. He had distanced himself at nearly every opportunity. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t want to work with her if they became involved romantically. What if he’d been thinking the opposite? Maybe he had wanted to pretend the whole thing had never happened and she had just…oh god.

Panting half in arousal, half in terror Della knew there was no way to make a graceful exit. She was straddling him, her knees to either side of his legs, and she could feel his growing attention beneath her. She sat up so she could ease her feet out from underneath, fully intending to slip off Perry’s lap and run for the hills, when his hand shot forward and grasped her hip. She shuddered as he pulled her firmly back down against him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Despite his slow, measured words she could hear the strain in his voice.

“To…to get Paul on the line?” Perry’s other hand slid beneath her skirts and Della squeezed her eyes shut. She held herself rigidly still, as desperate not to answer the growing ache between her legs as she was desperate to. “Didn’t you want…information on Chester Ellis?

“That is not what I want right now.”

His fingers found the top of her stocking, her garter straps, and slipped under the edge of her girdle. He groaned as they skated dangerously along the soft skin of her inner thigh. “It isn’t?” Della asked weakly.

“Minx!” Perry accused her half-heartedly. “Women are completely incomprehensible. How could you possibly think I wanted anything but you right now?”

She opened her eyes and searched his familiar features. “A girl likes to be sure.” His hand had reached the apex of her leg, gently kneading the muscle there.

“Then tell me how I can make you sure.” Della forced herself to inhale as his grip tightened.

“You do realize someone could walk in at any—” He ran his thumb across the front of her panties, down into the juncture of her thighs. As he ghosted across the point of her desire she bucked uncontrollably against him. “Perry!”

“God, Della,” he growled. Her hands locked on his shoulders and she moaned as he continued to stroke her through the damp cotton that separated his fingers from her building need. They had to stop before she lost the ability to stay even remotely quiet. “Make that sound again.”

“What sound?” she managed to get out coherently. How loud was she? They were in the office; it was the middle of the day. What if Gertie came in? What if Jackson did? The hand on her hip was creeping up her side, inching towards the front of her dress.

“The sound you just made.”

“I don’t know—oh!” she gasped. He was hard under her now and Della moaned again as he adjusted his grip to better draw her forward, grinding her steadily against him. She buried her head against his neck in an effort to keep her voice from carrying into the outer office or the hall.

“That was it.”

“Perry, this is…I didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand.”

“So far as I can see,” he grunted. “You’re very well situated in my hands.”

Della didn’t think she had ever wanted a man as much as she wanted Perry. It probably didn’t help matters that it had been quite a while since she had been with anyone else. Until now she hadn’t cared. She had let working with Perry consume her. She was letting desire was consume her now.

Still, some remaining common sense, bolstered by the brief panic that still hadn’t quite been flushed from her system, tried to assert itself. “Are you sure this is a precedent we ought to be setting, Counselor?”

“Hell yes,” he replied without pause.

Want was twisting and coiling low in her belly. God did she want, but this wasn’t all she wanted. Regardless of Perry’s insistence, regardless of her traitorous body’s insistence, this…this was shaping up to be a rushed encounter that began and ended at his desk. Did Perry realize how dangerous a precedent it really was?

With a momentous effort Della released him with one hand and reached for the phone on the corner of the desk. Perry leaned forward after her to catch her lips in a bruising kiss, one hand sliding up and settling between her shoulder blades to keep her close. She whimpered against his mouth as she flipped the receiver off the hook behind her and dialed blind.

Coming to the realization he didn't have her undivided attention anymore Perry kicked at the desk and sent the chair rolling towards the cabinet that stretched along the back wall. He was too late to stop her though. Della snagged the receiver and stretching the cord to it’s limit, put it to her ear as the connection went through.

“Margo? It’s Della. I—”

She couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath as Perry’s hand on her back forced her up on her knees, bringing her chest level with his mouth. When had he unbuttoned the top of her dress? She could feel the warmth of his murmured exhale through her bra.

“No…no, I’m fine.” She was shaking. “Is Mr. Drake available?” Perry slipped a strap off her shoulder and tugged the soft fabric down. “No, there’s just a lot going on here is all. Mr. Mason—!” He blew purposefully across her tingling flesh, tightening the already aching peaks of her breasts, and Della bit down so hard she thought her lip would bleed.

“Mmmm. Mmmhmm, Mr. Mason wanted to speak with him,” she got out. Della was balanced precariously. She suspected she was only staying in place by the sheer force of Perry’s will as her muscles were no longer responding to commands from her brain. “I think…I think that would be best. Thank you,” she finished nearly breathless. Perry ripped the receiver from her unresisting hand and tossed it away.

“Perry, we have to stop. Paul will be on his way over any minute. Oh god,” she sobbed as his lips finally, finally, closed around one exposed nipple.

Perry suckled hard before giving up his prize. “I didn’t…need to talk with him in person.”

“I needed you to,” she panted, twisting in his grip. Without outside intervention, she’d never force herself to let him go. Not when he was making her nerves sing like the strings of a violin.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she wriggled in her attempt to escape, his words coming out through clenched teeth. “And they say I pull outrageous stunts.”

“All…all in the pursuit of justice.”

“This one seems entirely unjust.”

Della locked eyes with him. Perry’s intensely blue irises were nearly obliterated by his pupils. “Just you wait,” she promised.

Paul Drake’s knock sounded on the door and Della wrenched herself free. She crossed the office in record time and slipped around the corner into Perry’s private bathroom.

Chest heaving, heart racing, Della stared at herself in the mirror. Her lipstick was completely gone. Not that it altered her appearance that much, her lips were swollen and red just the same. She adjusted her bra, buttoned up the top of her dress, and tried to smooth the creases out of her skirt. It was hopeless and she knew it. There was no way Paul wouldn’t notice. She wasn’t sure when she had lost her shoes, but she guessed they might be spotted beneath Perry’s desk. Even if they weren’t, she knew exactly where her missing lipstick could be found, and it really wasn’t Perry’s color.

Della took another steadying breath and frowned, irritated at her own cowardice. Well, was she going to be his lover or his secretary? If it was the latter she couldn’t hide when there was work to be done. Cheeks burning, she returned to the inner office.

Paul had already made himself at home in the overstuffed client chair, his legs propped up over one arm. “And how is our amateur detective doing today?” he asked as she came into view. “You know, Perry was practically apoplectic when the hospital called saying you had vanished. Though I have to say, it doesn’t look like you needed to stay any longer. Whatever the remedy, it’s really brought your color back,” he finished with a wide grin.

Della stepped around the desk and picked up the still dangling handset to place it in the cradle. “You should try it. It would do wonders for that mug of yours.”

Paul grabbed at his heart, still smiling. “Ouch, you’re going to give me a complex, sweetheart.”

“A great big boy like you? I thought you were made of tougher stuff than that.” She threw a sideways glance at Perry. His face was clean enough, but she caught sight of a stubborn smear of red remaining just above his collar.

“Alright kids,” Perry interrupted. Paul turned his attention back to Perry as Della seated herself in her customary chair at the edge of Perry’s desk and tried to subtly fish for her shoes. “I need a rush job on a man named Chester Ellis.”

“Who exactly is Chester Ellis?”

“Our mystery impersonator, and an assistant district attorney.”

“Oh ho! I take it he isn’t in police custody right now.”

“He is not. My client is reluctant to implicate him and I suspect he did not leave evidence of his presence at the crime scene.”

“Are you going after him for defamation? He did try to tie you to a murder.”

Perry shook his head. “He’d expect that. When I hit him he’ll never see it coming.”

“Your client wouldn’t happen to be the young lady I saw marched down the hall with the good lieutenants of Homicide?”

“She would.”

Paul shook his head. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“I don’t think she could have killed anyone Paul,” Della added looking up. She had failed to find either shoe. She _had_ spotted, crushed in the carpeting, the unlit cigarette that had been in Perry’s hand when she’d jumped him.

“How do you explain her fingerprints on the murder weapon?”

“What?!” Della’s jaw dropped.

Paul pulled out a small notebook and flipped a few pages in. “It’s one of the items I have for you, Perry. After you tipped Tragg off, they started running the prints of every employee in the department. Took them all weekend but they matched Miss Amy Arden, there’s a name for a starlet if I’ve ever heard one,” he opined with a sigh as he read through his notes, “to the fingerprints on that letter opener.”

“That explains Tragg’s promptness with the warrant.”

“Amelia Arden,” Della stressed, bristling slightly at Paul’s familiarity with the poor girl, “works for the district attorney, not the police department. Why would they have checked her fingerprints?”

“Miss Arden had, as of late, been plucked from the obscurity of the steno pool to work on a joint task force between the District Attorney’s office and Internal Affairs.”

“With Chester Ellis I bet.” Both men looked at her. “Well, it had to be him, didn’t it? He must have set her up.”

Perry’s eyes drifted back to a point just beyond his steepled hands. “Maybe. We’re still missing a motive. What have you found out about our murder victim, Paul?”

“I was just coming to that. This, Beautiful, is why you all keep paying my outrageous fees,” he said with more than a hint of boastfulness. “Aaron Graves is in fact Robert Wellman. An IA officer from San Francisco, down here on assignment to smoke out a few of the more corrupt members of LA’s finest.”

“What on earth would Miss Arden’s motive have been then?”

“That snipe hunt was what the task force was working on. She must have known the guy.”

“That isn’t a motive,” Della said, folding her arms.

Paul shrugged. “ _That_ is not my job. I report the facts. Your boss is the one that has to make sense of it.”

“I take it from your description of their efforts the task force wasn’t successful.” Perry rubbed at his chin absently.

“It was not. They know someone was being paid off to let a very profitable and very illegal gambling racket slide, but as soon as they started looking closely there didn’t seem to be a single bent straw in the entire bunch.”

“Do they know who was running the racket?”

“No. And if you’re about to ask me to uncover in three days what a multi-county police task force couldn’t uncover in three months—”

“I thought there was a reason we paid those outrages fees, Paul.” Perry held up a hand to forestall Paul’s continued protests. “Your list is a lot narrower. Find out how many prints were pulled off Della’s purse and who they belong to.”

“And what if I find Miss Arden’s?”

“It’s possible, but it’s whose won’t be there that I’m most interested in.”

“Most of Los Angeles then. You have a funny definition of narrow.” Paul said with a shake of his head. When Perry fell silent and it seemed no more instructions would be forthcoming, Paul stood and stretched. “Well, if you people will excuse me I will go and get started on my latest assignment. Someone around here ought to be working, after all,” he added with a wink.

When the door had shut behind him with a click Della ducked her head down below the desk. “Where are they?”

“Here.” Perry said leaning forward and pulling her mules out from behind his back with one hand.

“Do you think he…” she trailed off at Perry’s nod.

“I’m sure he suspects. He really does earn those fees.”

She sat back with a sigh. “I think we need to have a serious talk.”

Della felt a shiver beginning at the base of her spine as Perry subjected her to his thoughtful gaze. It was disconcerting how quickly he refocused. He looked like he wanted to eat her alive.

“Just talk?” Perry’s hand settled on her knee and Della jumped to her feet so fast she nearly knocked her chair over. She swiftly positioned herself so the desk was in between them.

“I shudder to think what Paul’s expense report will read if I have to call him down here again.”

A smile crept onto Perry’s face. “You shudder quite nicely.”

Her mouth twisted wryly in response. She just couldn’t help herself. “You don’t know the half of it yet.”

Perry came up out of his seat with a growl and they stared each other down across the blotter. “Della, whatever it is that’s between us—”

“The desk?”

His eyes narrowed. “So much for serious.”

Della reached forward, slipped her hand inside Perry’s suit jacket and plucked a handkerchief already stained with her lipstick from the inner pocket. “Whatever it is,” she said carefully. “In order for it to work…at work, we’re going to need to draw some lines.”

With her other hand she tilted his head and gently wiped away the remnants of red on his neck. “I don’t like lines.”

“Sure you do. You just call them technical distinctions.”

“When did you become such an avid student of law?”

“When I started trying to keep up with you.” She tucked the handkerchief carefully back into its place.

“I use technical distinctions to protect my clients,” he said carefully. “Don't you trust me?”

A low laugh escaped her. “I don’t trust myself.”

The intercom buzzed and Della picked it up automatically. “Yes, Gertie?”

“Mr. Mason’s one o’clock is here early. Should I send him in?”

“I’ll be out in just a minute, Gertie.”

“You’re not going to let me cancel the rest of my appointments and close up the office for the day, are you?”

She shook her head. “No, but I might clear the decks so you can focus on Miss Arden. I’ll order some lunch from Clay’s. Will that mollify you?”

“Hardly.” Perry sat back down petulantly. “Who’s the boss around here anyway?”

“When you can answer that question, you’ll have the case cracked.”

Della’s hand was on the doorknob when Perry cleared his throat. “Miss Street?” She turned back to find him grinning at her, her heels hooked over his fingers. “Don’t forget your shoes.”


	11. Chapter 11

Paul Drake slipped back into the courtroom moments before a large officer for the county moved into position in front of the double doors. The Honorable Hortensia Ballard certainly had her hands full, but she seemed up to the task. She looked to be in her late fifties, maybe early sixties. Her hair was more grey than any other color, but she had the smooth skin of someone who had worked indoors rather than out most of her life. She had, after a long and unruly morning, ordered the courtroom sealed. Reporters constantly in and out of their seats to report on the antics of the attorneys involved had made for continual pandemonium and distraction in the gallery. Paul was glad he had gotten the information on Ellis when he had. Yesterday would have been better, of course, but a few minutes later might have been disastrous.

Not that the blame could be placed solely on the shoulders of the press. Paul was willing to bet good money she had never had to chastise counsel quite so much before. The rancor displayed by the District Attorney’s office was even more vitriolic than usual. Burger sure had his panties in a twist. And while Perry didn’t initiate, he responded just as sharply. Paul had a pretty good idea the good judge was reaching the end of her very impressive patience. 

The private detective moved up to the rail dividing the public gallery from the real action with his long loping stride and handed Mason a note. Perry read it over quickly and gave him a short nod. Satisfied he had done what he could, Paul settled into a chair just behind the big man. He wished he had a bag of popcorn. Watching these proceedings had been just like watching a three-ring circus. He propped his foot against the rail as unobtrusively as he could and settled in to take in the rest of the show.

Judge Ballard tapped her gavel sharply. “Counsel will refrain from any more displays of personality in this courtroom. If I have to ask again, I will find you both in contempt.”

“But Your Honor—”

“That is quite enough Mr. Burger. I will hear and rule on your objections when it is appropriate. You are here to present the State’s case, not to attack opposing counsel.”

“Well, I object to the Defense stipulating how the State must try its case. Della Street was issued a _subpoena duces tecum_ to bring items in her possession that are material evidence in this case! Furthermore, the State intends to prosecute Mr. Mason for concealment of said items and—”

Mason stood to address the court, blocking Paul’s view of the judge. “The Defense contends that these items are not material evidence in the death of Robert Wellman, aka Aaron Graves, Your Honor, and if Mr. Burger maintains that they are, he may only introduce them after proper foundation has been laid.”

“Miss Street’s testimony will lay that foundation!”

“At the expense of my client. Anything covered by client confidentiality, extends to Miss Street in her capacity as my confidential secretary.”

“At the time of the crime you were not representing your client, therefore no confidence is being violated!”

“You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Burger. If you wish to prosecute me for knowingly concealing evidence of a crime in defense of my client, I must have been representing her. Your Honor, it appears as though the District Attorney is on a fishing expedition to bring charges unrelated to the immediate matter at hand.”

“You have a lot of nerve suggesting—”

“Counselor! Defense’s point is well taken.”

Burger looked fit to be tied. He managed to hold his temper in check, but only just. Paul wondered if winding up the district attorney was part of Perry’s strategy. “In that case, Your Honor, the state wishes to recall Arthur Tragg to the stand.”

“Defense has no objection.”

The lieutenant took the stand and was reminded he was still under oath.

“Lieutenant Tragg, do you recognize this purse?”

“I do. It has my mark on it.”

“Where was it discovered?”

“It was turned into the police by the driver of a Yellow Cab.” He pulled out a small notebook. “Number 622.”

“As it is now?”

“Yes, along with the items inside it. A notebook, two pencils, a handkerchief, and a lipstick.”

“But nothing else to identify it?”

“No.”

“This purse was clearly covered in blood. Did you find any blood in the back of the taxi?”

“A very small amount.”

“Would you say that was unusual considering the amount on the purse?”

“Yes.”

“In your experience, what does that indicate?”

“Objection. Calls for a conclusion from the witness.”

“Your honor! Lieutenant Tragg is well-qualified as a detective in the area of homicide to make such a conclusion.”

“Do I understand that the Prosecution wishes to have Lieutenant Tragg testify as an expert for the State?” the judge asked.

“We had hoped to avoid yet another lengthy questioning process. However, if the Defense insists upon it to establish that fact, we will do it even if it means being here all day!”

“The Defense is more than happy to stipulate to Lieutenant Tragg’s expertise in the matter of homicide,” Perry said affably.

“Then why—?” Burger began angrily before Judge Ballard’s warning look stopped him. “Fine. Thank you. Now, Lieutenant Tragg, would you say it is unusual to find so little blood in the area the purse was discovered.”

“Yes. And what did that lead you to conclude.”

“The purse had been moved from the crime scene.”

“What conclusion would you draw from the lack of identifying items in it?”

“In my experience, I would say that someone was attempting to conceal that they had been at the scene of a murder.”

“Were you able to match the blood on this purse to that of a particular crime scene?”

“We were. The blood type on the purse was a match to Mr. Wellman’s.”

“The State introduces this purse as exhibit F.”

“No objection,” came Mason’s indifferent voice.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. You may step down.”

Mason rose, “I have one or two questions on cross.”

Burger scowled, stomped back to his seat, and made a show of looking at his watch. Judge Ballard ignored this display of pique.

“Lieutenant Tragg, were you able to subsequently identify to whom the purse belonged?”

That made the judge’s eyebrows rise.

“We were,” Tragg responded warily. “It was claimed by your secretary, Miss Della Street.”

Perry smiled. “But surely, anyone could make a mistake. It isn’t a particularly unique or expensive item. I imagine a number of women have a similar purse. How can you be sure it was hers?”

“Miss Street’s fingerprints were on it.”

“Were anyone else’s prints on it?”

“Yes.”

“Whose?”

“Mr. Dorian Faltz and Mr. Chester Ellis. I hope you’re not suggesting the purse belonged to one of those gentlemen.”

Mason’s smile widened. “Were Amelia Arden’s prints on it?”

“No, they were not.”

“But you did recover her prints from a letter opener the coroner believes to be the murder weapon?”

“Yes.”

“Were her prints found anywhere else at the scene?”

“No.”

“We’ve all seen the pictures of the crime scene. Do you believe it is likely for the defendant to have left prints only on the murder weapon?”

“Objection! What the Lieutenant believes or doesn’t believe is irrelevant. The facts of the case are what is at issue here.”

“The State introduced Lieutenant Tragg as an expert. I am merely asking for his expert opinion.”

A small smile played at the edge of the judge’s mouth. “You did open the door, Mr. Burger. Mr. Mason has every right to walk through it. Overruled.”

Tragg seemed willing to concede a point to Mason. “I wouldn’t say it was impossible, but it is unlikely.”

“Were there any other prints at the scene of the crime?”

“A few belonging to the deceased.”

“But no other prints at all?”

“Not that we could develop.”

“In your experience, is that the case with many crime scenes?”

“Not many, but it does happen.”

“For instance when someone has wiped clean any surface they touched.” Mason’s voice rose as he drove his point home. “Do you expect us to believe that the killer carefully removed his or her fingerprints from every surface but the murder weapon?”

“Objected to as argumentative!”

“Sustained.”

Perry smiled. Judging from the interested look that came with the ruling from the bench, he had won the point anyway. “No further questions.”

“The State calls Chester Ellis,” Burger bit out as Tragg had stepped down.

A slight young man in an ill-cut suit walked up the aisle from a seat somewhere behind Paul’s. The detective fixed a bored expression on his face as he carefully watched the man come forward. Ellis’s glance at the defense table and the upset on the face of the defendant was duly noted. For his part, the witness’s expression was held rigidly indifferent.

“Mr. Ellis, you are currently an employee of the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s office, correct.”

“Yes sir.”

“And on the evening of the twenty-fourth of last month did you place a call to Homicide informing them of a body at 3284 Tiber Street?”

“I did.”

“Were you alone when you discovered the body?”

“No, Miss Arden was with me.”

“Amelia Arden, the Defendant?”

“Yes.”

“How did you become acquainted with the Defendant?”

“We met in the workplace.”

“Were you there on a work errand?”

“Yes, I was but Miss Arden wasn’t. She and I had been seeing each other socially.”

“How long had you been seeing her socially?”

“A few weeks.”

“Why did you leave the scene of the crime Mr. Ellis?”

“I shouldn’t have, I know. But you see Mr. Burger, I didn’t want to subject Miss Arden to such a scene any longer than necessary. She dropped her purse and seemed very upset. I didn’t realize at the time that she had been trying to remove evidence.” Paul rolled his eyes. Ellis was going to play the chivalrous boyfriend, completely taken in by a pretty face.

“Objection. Mr. Burger cannot introduce evidence through hearsay. Simply coaching the witness to believe something is evidence does not make it evidence. Proper foundation has still not been laid for such evidence, if it exists.”

“Sustained. The court has already ruled on this point, Mr. Burger. The witness’s last statement will be stricken from the record.”

“Mr. Ellis,” Burger began again. “Did you see the defendant remove something from the scene of the crime?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What was it?”

“It looked like a woman’s wallet. Amelia, that is, Miss Arden picked it up and put it in her purse.”

Paul watched as the lady in question tugged frantically on Perry’s arm, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But Mr. Mason, I brought it with me from the taxi. I swear. Chester knows that! He told me we shouldn’t leave it the cab after we found it. Why would he say I took something that was already there?”

Perry’s hand moved to her arm consolingly. “It’s not unexpected.”

“Did you happen to get a look at the wallet Miss Arden removed from the scene?”

“I did later that night.”

“And to whom,” Burger asked, his voice ringing, “did the wallet belong?”

The look the witness favored those at the defense table with was pure venom. “Miss Della Street.”

Burger turned smugly towards Perry. “Your witness.”

Della handed Perry a slim folder and Paul saw him tuck the note he had brought into the courtroom a few minutes ago inside it as he rose to his feet. He hoped Perry nailed Ellis to the cross.

“Mr. Ellis, how did you get to 3284 Tiber Street on the night of the twenty-fourth?”

“I took a taxi.”

“Who was the driver?”

Ellis glanced nervously at the prosecution’s table and Paul caught a subtle nod from the District Attorney. “I understand it was Mr. Dorian Faltz. A witness Mr. Burger intends to call later today.”

“When you arrived at the house in question how did you announce yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you knock on the door? Did you ring a bell?”

“I knocked. There wasn’t a bell.”

“Did you receive an answer?”

“Of course not, Graves was already dead.”

“But you entered his home anyway. Why?”

“The door was open and he was expecting me. We had planned to meet to discuss some details of a project we were both assigned to.”

“That late on a Thursday night?”

“He’s the one who asked for the meeting. He said it was important.”

“But clearly you didn’t think it was important enough to cancel your date with Miss Arden.”

Ellis frowned. “I’m not proud of how that affair was carried out. In retrospect I should have been more discreet.”

“What did you do upon entering the house?”

“I walked through to the living room, that’s when I saw the body.”

Mason waited a beat but Ellis settled, clearly deciding not to elaborate further. “Was it shocking to you, Mr. Ellis?”

“Of course it was shocking. I don’t wander about town looking for dead bodies like some attention seeking attorneys.” A few laughs broke out in the gallery.

“Did you disturb the crime scene at all? After all, if it was indeed so very shocking you could hardly be blamed for such a disturbance.”

Ellis sneered. “I consider myself to be cool under pressure, Mr. Mason. I was very careful. I didn’t touch anything.”

“Except for Exhibit F.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You didn’t touch anything but state’s exhibit F.”

“I didn’t touch anything in that house,” Ellis declared firmly.

Perry turned to the court reporter. “Could you read back part of Lieutenant Tragg’s testimony? Beginning with ‘Miss Street’s fingerprints.’”

The reporter looked back through his notes. “Lieutenant Tragg: Miss Street’s fingerprints were on it. Mr. Mason: Were anyone else’s prints on it? Lieutenant Tragg: Yes. Mr. Mason: Whose? Lieutenant Tragg: Mr. Dorian Faltz and Mr. Chester Ellis.”

“Thank you. Now Mr. Ellis, if it wasn’t in the house where did you happen to pick up Miss Street’s purse?”

“I…I don’t know. I suppose I might have touched it in the house.”

“Where you were so careful not to touch anything else? No, I think you were very truthful about that.”

“Clearly I was wrong,” he ground out. “If my prints were on it I suppose I must have touched it when I was looking around the house.”

“Or might it have been that you picked it up in the back of the cab in which you rode out to that house?”

“I did no such thing!”

“Explain your prints then, Mr. Ellis. Explain that aside from Miss Street, the only other prints belong to Mr. Dorian Faltz, the cab driver who drove you to the scene.”

Burger leapt to his feet. “Objection! Calls for hearsay! Calls for a conclusion of the witness!”

“Is the State intending to call Mr. Faltz as a witness, Mr. Burger?” Judge Ballard asked.

“We are.”

Perry turned to the judge. “If it please the court, I am willing to delay the rest of my cross-examination of this witness until after Mr. Faltz has testified.”

“Your Honor, the State wishes to call Miss Street to the stand at this time. Mr. Ellis has confirmed the presence of her wallet at the scene. We demand that she produce it!”

“It is not yet clear what sequence of events led to Miss Street’s things being at the crime scene—”

“Maybe in your mind.”

“—and until it is the Defense’s original objection stands.”

“Is Mr. Faltz present in the courtroom today?”

“He is.”

“Then I see no reason why he should not be called at this time.” Ballard held up her hand to forestall Burger’s argument. “And if his testimony clears up this matter then I see no reason why Miss Street cannot be called after.”

“Very well, Your Honor. The State calls Dorian Faltz to the stand.”

The cabbie was sworn. He looked nervously around the courtroom.

“Mr. Faltz, please tell the court the events that led to the discovery of Miss Street’s purse on the morning of the twenty-fifth.”

“Um, well. You see, I had driven this couple out to that house on Tiber.” Faltz kept glancing nervously at the defense table. “And the fellow, well he said he was Perry Mason and that the lady was his secretary. I see now he wasn’t,” he added hastily. “And…and well…”

“Go on, Mr. Faltz,” Burger encouraged.

“Well, I gave the lady a lift to a hotel. And that was that unil I got back to the garage after shift and the night dispatcher said I should check my cab for a purse. That a lady named Street had called up looking for it. I found it alright, stuck under the seat covered in blood and everything.”

“And this call had come in after you had taken the woman from 3284 Tiber Street to the hotel?”

“I think that’s right. I didn’t take the call.”

“Thank you. Your witness.”

Perry stood but remained behind the defense table. If Paul was any judge of character, and he flattered himself he was, Faltz was a hot minute from either spilling his guts or wetting his pants. “I only have one question for you Mr. Faltz,” Perry said, his voice carrying easily across the courtroom. “Did you enter 3284 Tiber Street at any point on the evening of the twenty-fourth or morning of the twenty-fifth?”

“What? No!”

“You’re quite sure about that? You found Miss Street’s purse in the back of your cab, not at the scene of a murder.”

“I swear that’s just how it happened! I never went into that house! I swear!”

“Thank you Mr. Faltz. That’s all.”

Dorian Faltz descended from the stand, stark relief writ over his features.

Judge Ballard glanced at her watch. “Gentlemen, I see that we are nearing the hour of adjournment, though I imagine Mr. Mason is eager to recall Mr. Ellis to the stand.”

“I’m afraid the continuation of my cross-examination may be quite lengthy.”

“In that case, we will adjourn until tomorrow morning.”

The sound of the gavel cut through the din of chairs scraping the floor, all those assembled standing as the judge did. Paul leaned forward. “I don’t get it Perry. Why’d you let Ellis off so easily?”

“I’m after bigger fish. I need you to put a man on Ellis as soon as he’s out the door. Can you do it?”

“It’ll have to be me until I can get a call through. Where will you be?”

“The office.”

“Got it.” Paul gave Della a wave and then headed out after his quarry.


	12. Chapter 12

Perry slammed the book he had been trying to read shut and jumped to his feet to begin a circuit of the room. It was nearly eight o’clock and he still hadn’t heard from Paul Drake. The remains of a sandwich tray, ordered from Clay’s Grille and consumed by Jackson, Della, and himself sat on the round conference table. Perry stared at it as if it could provide an answer to the detective’s whereabouts where Volume 82 of the _Corpus Juris Secundum_ had failed him. If nothing else, the mere mention of dinner should have conjured their wandering boy.

God, he was wound tighter than a spring. Paul knew his business. If there was trouble he could handle himself. He just couldn’t figure what Ellis could be doing that kept Paul from making a call. Perry had felt certain Ellis would have contacted his accomplice as soon as he could. He dropped his head and rubbed at his neck for a moment. His eyes went to the door separating his office from Della’s. She’d walked out of the office thirty minutes ago and he hadn’t seen her since.

He debated going in. It was not a good idea. He had all but avoided her presence in the last week unless they had a task to be done together or someone else was going to be in the same room. It kept him focused. It kept him on the straight and narrow. It kept him sane. Because another heavy petting session interrupted like the one she had initiated the day he took Amelia Arden’s case was likely to kill him.

He suddenly craved a cigarette. Perry perched on the front of his desk and lifted the lid of the humidor just as the door in question opened and Della walked back in. In her hands was a stack of papers and envelopes turned perpendicular indicating organized piles. He eyed the familiar items with loathing. “The mail? I don’t think I’m that desperate for something to do.”

Della gave a sheepish shrug. “We’ve fallen so far behind what with the Evans case on the heels of Mrs. Leeds, not to mention the mess we’re in right now. I thought…we might be able to get something productive done while we waited for Paul.”

Perry considered grabbing the whole lot from her and pitching it off the balcony, but then there would be no reason for her to stay and he’d be forced to send her out again. He gritted his teeth. “Alright then. Mail.”

She seemed almost relieved and he wondered if maybe she hadn’t come up with this as her own attempt at having a reason to be in the room with him. She had not initiated anything since Monday nor had she broached the topic in discussion. She had been the perfect model of decorum.

Della skirted around to his chair, sat down and began reassembling her piles. Perry smirked at her and pulled up the client chair opposite for himself. “Okay Boss, do your worst.”

The corner of Della’s mouth turned up. “Boss, huh?”

“Would you prefer, Bossy?”

“I just want to know if this means you’ve finally figured out who’s in charge.”

“I recall you promising me it would crack the case, but I’m no less muddled than I was before.”

“I’m stumped too, Chief.”

“See, there we go again, switching things up.”

“Human beings are contrary by nature. If you’re looking for reason, you’d better stick to the law. People will just make you crazy.”

Della Street was making him crazy. A hint of her perfume, delicate and sweet—was that something citrusy?—drifted across the space between them. Perry wanted to close the distance and bury his head in her neck. The better to smell her; the better to taste her. Damn it, as Della had so elegantly put it. He blew out a breath.

He returned his attention reluctantly to the mail, selecting a letter from the top of the left most pile, items that required no response. As he perused its contents Della went to work on her own pile of as yet unopened correspondence. The letter opener flashed as she deftly worked it in the corner of an envelope before ripping it free. In and out smoothly, the efficiency of the action rendering the dullness of the blade unimportant. Perry was transfixed.

When she had finished opening what was left and begun sorting her stack, his gaze traveled up to her face. The letter still in his hand was utterly forgotten. Della’s brow furrowed gently and her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she stared at the letter in her hand. He tried not to think too hard about what those lips were capable of.

“Is it a matter of life and death?”

“What?” she asked, startled.

He nodded at the paper in her hand. “You look like someone has asked for the judgement of Solomon.”

“Oh, no,” she looked at the letter again and blushed, having clearly not comprehended a thing written there. “The _Sentinel_ wants you to know they have a deal on advertising space running for the next two weeks.”

“Mmm. Something very serious to consider indeed. I hadn’t thought we were that hard up for clients.”

Della rolled those lovely, hazel eyes. “Fortunately, we haven’t dipped into the red just yet. Though, after this case we might consider advertising for a client or two with cash.”

“Don’t be so mercenary, Della. Half the fun is in the mystery.”

“I don’t see why it has to be a poorly paying mystery.”

“What’s eating you? I thought you wanted me to take Miss Arden’s case.”

“I did. I just don’t…”

Perry tossed the slightly crumpled letter back on the desk and leaned back. “Just don’t what?”

“Understand it. It doesn’t make sense. Why is the District Attorney prosecuting her when it’s such an obvious frame.”

“Mr. Burger is caught between a rock and a hard place. A cop was murdered. Both the police department and his office are under enormous pressure to make certain this case is closed.”

“Even if they send an innocent person to her death?”

He shook his head sadly. “Sometimes the illusion of justice being done is enough to satisfy weaker men.”

“I never thought of Hamilton Burger as weak.”

“He isn’t. But every man is susceptible to temptation; even a strong man gives in sometimes.”

She tilted her head and regarded him intently. “Even you?”

He faced his weakness squarely. “Even me.”

There was a beat and then she tore her eyes away. “So what’s going to get him kicked out of Eden?”

“Burger? The chance to crucify me,” Perry said with a chuckle.

“Doesn’t he know all this deification just goes straight to your head?” She laughed a moment with him in that low, sultry way she had before becoming serious again. “Why didn’t you finish your cross of Ellis today? You had him dead to rights. He had to have picked up my purse and brought it back to the cab.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But his prints were on it!”

“Oh, I think he picked it up in the cab, but he intended it to be left at the crime scene. I think you were right about him. He needed to frame the murder on someone and Miss Arden was convenient. They worked together. It would be nothing to get a hold of that letter opener.” Perry picked Della’s up and toyed with it briefly. “He didn’t think about the fact that when they went out she’d be wearing gloves though. She didn’t leave any extra prints at the scene. Finding your purse was a lucky coincidence. Another lead for the police to chase that pointed away from the real killer.”

“But Perry, if he killed Graves or Wellman or whatever his name was, why didn’t you—”

“Ellis didn’t kill Wellman.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “If he didn’t do it, why go to all the effort to frame that poor girl?”

“He was paid well for it. Paul was able to find a shell account Ellis opened last week under an assumed name. It was opened with thirty-five thousand dollars cash.”

“That’s more money than a salaried public attorney would make in five years!”

Perry nodded. “He’s in a spot now, though. If he sticks with his line he might end up facing perjury charges and the loss of his license. It makes that thirty-five thousand look like a raw deal. I think he’s going to go back and ask for more money.”

“Leading Paul to the killer.”

“Exactly.”

Della smiled in admiration and Perry wondered how much of the elation suddenly running through his system was from the satisfaction of solving a puzzle and how much of it was having her look at him like that.

A staccato of beats reverberated on Perry’s private door and Della jumped to her feet. “Where on earth have you been?” she asked as she admitted Paul to their presence.

“Hello to you too, Beautiful,” he greeted her. “I have been working, unlike certain other…” He looked at the piles of correspondence covering the desk and feigned astonishment. “Don’t tell me you were actually working.”

“You missed dinner,” she replied acidly.

“Aww, Della,” he said mournfully. “You sure know how to bring a guy down.”

“Leftovers are on the table.”

Paul brightened promptly. “And lift him once more to the heights of ecstasy.”

He made a beeline for what was left of the sandwiches. With one in his mouth and another in his hand he turned back to the two of them. Della crossed her arms and Perry shook his head. “What?” the detective asked through a mouthful. “I did miss dinner.”

“Nothing to report?”

He chewed a moment longer and swallowed. “Nothing of any consequence.”

“Then what took you so damned long? Did Ellis take you for a ride?”

“Nope. Went straight back to his apartment and hasn’t budged. I got an operative on the job, but stuck around myself until I could get a second man there. Just in case someone came to see him. I figured you’d want anyone who came calling tailed too. Butwe came up empty. While I was there he had zero visitors.”

Perry frowned. He had been sure he hadn’t misread Chester Ellis.

“Maybe he called the killer,” Della suggested. “What if he made arrangements without going out?”

“It’s as good a theory as any, but you can’t be paid off over the phone. Keep your men on him Paul. Eventually, he’s going to meet with someone and I want to know who.”

Paul nodded and Perry pushed out of his chair. “Maybe…” Perry began again thoughtfully. “We need to force his hand. Get your car, Paul. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Are we getting rough?”

Perry nodded. “We may be getting rough.”

Drake eyed the last half sandwich on the tray with a sigh.

“Just take it,” Della said. He favored her with a grin and snagged it quick as a flash before slipping back out the way he came.

Della stood as well, “I’ll get my coat.”

“You’re staying here.” Perry said, collecting his hat from its perpetual home atop the bust of Blackstone.

Della’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

In retrospect he should have known better, should have made up an excuse, but he had never had to before. Instead he went blundering forward. “We’re going after a killer Della; it isn’t safe. I’ll be in touch.”

“Just a minute!” She came around the desk and stood in his path.

“Paul will be waiting; what is it?” he asked impatiently.

“I won’t be,” she announced, eyes glittering and hard.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, if you walk out that door I won’t be here waiting when you get back.”

Perry blinked. She always waited for him. He had thought maybe, if they could spook Ellis into acting prematurely, they could still have had a celebration later on this evening. An _uninterrupted_ celebration. “It’s fine.” He strove to keep the disappointment from his voice as he patted her shoulder paternalistically. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No.” She shook her head definitively. “If you walk out on me right now I won’t be back. Ever.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Disappointment quickly became confusion and fear. She was going to quit? What the hell was happening?

“Do you love me?”

“What sort of question is that?”

“That isn’t an answer. Do you love me?”

“Yes! I love you. I told you that. I asked you to marry me for pete’s sake!”

“Do you want to work with me?”

“Damn it, Della, why the hell are you—”

“ _Do you want to work with me?_ ”

Perry ran a hand over his face. “How could I possibly work without you?”

She nodded in satisfaction. “Then where you go, I go.”

“It isn’t safe, Della! Paul and I may have to put a good scare into Ellis.”

“I can wait in the car.”

“What would be the point of that?”

“The point is that I would be involved.”

“You are involved.”

Della shook her head. “You used me as bait to catch Miss Arden and you didn’t tell me, Perry.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind doing it.”

“I didn’t! I would have done it a thousand times. All you had to do was ask!”

“Holcomb was on me like a tick. I couldn’t see you without risking his figuring out where you were.”

“You could have sent a message with Paul,” she said reproachfully.

He sighed. She wasn’t wrong. “I could have. I didn’t. I’m sorry, but—”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about this. About us. Working together, sleeping together. It won’t work unless we’re actually in it _together_ , Perry. If you think I love the adventure that comes with each new case any less than you do, then…then you don’t know me at all!”

“Della—”

She put a hand on his chest stopping him cold. “No, listen! If your loving me means that you constantly hide me away to keep me safe, that I’ll be forever trapped at my desk, waiting for you to call with instructions to send someone else out to do what needs to be done like some sort of…legal dispatch we might as well be—”

Perry didn’t hear any more. His mind was suddenly electrified as connections between seemingly disparate facts blazed into existence. “Della! You’re brilliant!” Completely oblivious to the stunned look on her face he put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her.

It was brief, born of that burst of overwhelming inspiration and excitement, but before he could say anything more Della pulled him back to her. She caught his lower lip between hers and the whimper she let out as she melted against him shot straight to his groin. Perry let one arm snake around her, pulling her closer still. The other ran up her neck, his thumb briefly caressing her cheek as his fingers toyed with silky curls.

His mind had been as hot as a live wire, now his body followed suit. That scent, that had so taunted him earlier was enveloping him completely. He broke the kiss and dropped his head so he could nuzzle her pulse point, inhaling deeply.

“Perry.” Her voice, normally low and steady, was breathy and uncertain in his ear. He kissed her neck. God, she was so soft, and he was growing hard in response. He moved his head further down, bending awkwardly, and pulled her collar to one side to reach the the place where her neck and  shoulder met. His teeth grazed her skin and he was rewarded with a stifled gasp. She made the most wonderful sounds when she was trying not to.

He let his hands fall to her rear and he tugged at the tight skirt she was wearing. He wanted to peel it right off her. He didn’t push farther though, because he had the answer now, and there would be plenty of time for that once Chester Ellis proved him right. Della wrapped her arms around his neck and Perry picked her up off the ground, her legs to one side, still trapped by the damned skirt. He carried her back to his desk and set her down next to the phone. Della’s hands dropped to the desktop to steady herself as he let her go.

Perry took a moment to appreciate her thoroughly disheveled state. Her lipstick was smudged around parted lips and she was struggling to catch her breath. He had inadvertently torn the top button of her blouse, and her heaving chest directed his attention to the extra skin now in view. Her skirt, though still pinning her long legs together, was hiked up above the knee. He rested his hands to either side of her, resisting the urge to run them up her thighs and take a bruising grip on her hips. “Get Tragg on the phone, and then get him down to the Yellow Cab garage in an hour. I don’t care how you do it, so long as you make it by the start of the graveyard shift. Tell him you’ve taken up street walking if you think it’ll get him there. Whatever it takes. Wait for Paul and I to get there and then let him loose.”

“What…what just happened?”

“You were right all along. You said that when I figured out who was in charge I’d have the case cracked. Well, I do.”

“And who’s in charge?” she asked incredulously.

He grinned at her, “Isn’t it obvious? We’re partners.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Don’t you suppose it’s time you gave us a little more to go on?” Tragg turned back towards Della where she was seated in the rear of his unmarked car. Across from him Lieutenant Anderson sat, his eyes fixed on the Yellow Cab Garage.

“What else can I tell you? He’ll be here.”

Anderson sat up straighter. “Arthur, that’s Chester Ellis. What’s he doing here?”

The three of them watched the painfully thin man scurry into the building.

Tragg’s eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious. “Alright Della, what are you playing at?”

Della widened her eyes. “I’m not playing at anything, Lieutenant.”

“Come on now. You can’t expect me to believe—”

“And that’s Mason!”

Sure enough, Perry Mason and Paul Drake crossed the road in front of them and headed into the building as Ellis had done. Della sprang from the back of the car and ran across the road without bothering to shut the door behind her. She could hear the shouts of the officers getting out behind her behind her, “Go, go!”

Della had reached the door when Anderson’s hand came down firmly on her arm. “I think we’ll go in first, Miss Street.”

She flashed him a tight smile. “Of course.”

Tragg and Anderson moved into the building quietly ahead of her. The main office was empty. Della glanced at the switchboard behind the reception desk. It was set to direct calls to another line. She bent to inspect the desk further but was stopped by a frowning Tragg. He shook his head mutely as he pulled her away and placed her meaningfully between the two detectives. She got the message. No snooping.

They moved further into the building and could soon hear the sounds of raised voices. The officers crept forward nearly silently on the thinly carpeted floor. As a display of the training that went into being a detective it was perfectly adequate, but Della wished they would move a lot faster. Perry thought that the killer was here, and she would feel a lot better if the killer knew that he and Paul were about to have armed backup. Even if the aforementioned armed backup had some slightly misguided notions about why they were there.

The voices became clear as they came upon a door standing ajar. The little Della could see around Tragg’s shoulder showed it led into a section of the garage fitted out as a repair bay. She could see the rear bumper of a taxicab hoisted in the air on a hydraulic lift. Nearer the door was a desk dominated by a dispatch radio with a telephone perched on the corner almost as an afterthought.

“You listen to me, Dillard—”

The telephone rang shrilly, and the three of them shrank back into the shadow of the unlit hallway. “Just a minute. Duty calls,” came a voice Della couldn’t place. He stepped into view and picked up the handset, answering in a bored tone, “Yellow Cab…What’s the address?…Shouldn’t be but a few minutes. Good-bye.”

The dispatcher quickly got a cab on the radio and on its way to the requested address. He made a careful note in a ledger next to the radio before walking slowly back out of Della’s view.

“I want the money you agreed to pay when we spoke on the phone. I need it now,” came the voice of Chester Ellis again.

“Planning on taking a powder, Ellis? It’s a mistake. You’ll be playing right into that Mason fellow’s hands. You need to buck up and stick to your story. When the Arden woman is convicted, then you can come back here and we can talk money.”

“Then you won’t need me. I want the money now.”

Where were Perry and Paul? Della had seen them walk in, but no they were no where in sight.

Dillard made a disgusted noise. “For someone who went to an awful lot of school you don’t listen so good. You need to stick around and finish doing what you’ve been paid to do.”

“Then why did you say you were willing to pay on the phone?” Ellis demanded.

“He wanted you to come down here, of course.” Perry’s voice echoed in the large space. Della tried to push around Tragg, but Lieutenant Anderson got a hold of her by the shoulder. She got the door open far enough that she could see the rest of the way into the room though. Ellis and Dillard were standing near the front end of the raised cab, their attention turned to Perry as he walked down the garage bay from the far side. There must have been another way around from the front office.

“What the hell is this?” Ellis snarled.

“He’s going to kill you, Chester. Just like he killed Richard Wellman.”

“That’s quite the accusation to be throwing around, Mr. Mason. Things looking that bad for your client?” Dillard asked.

Perry ignored Dillard. “Your only chance is to turn state’s evidence, Chester. Hamilton Burger is a reasonable man. He’ll give you a reasonable deal. You won’t be able to get away with it now.”

“Don’t be an idiot Ellis; he’s fishing. He obviously followed you here. He’s got no proof of anything.”

“But I do. We found your bank account with Golden State Fiduciary. The problem with opening an account right off the bat with that much cash is that it raises some eyebrows. Suspicious tellers tend to keep records of the numbers on bills that open accounts like that. They never know when the IRS or a private dick won’t come around offering a bonus for that kind of information. You have a chance now to make good. Come forward before the police begin investigating it.”

“I…”Ellis seemed frozen in indecision.

Dillard slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one loose and put it to his lips as he addressed Mason. “Heh. It’s a laugh. The joke here is how Ellis swore up and down that he was smarter than the great Perry Mason. But none of this has anything to do with me. My friend Ellis here, just came down to talk to me about borrowing a little cash. He likes to play the ponies, you know.”

Perry kept pressing Ellis. “I can help you though, Chester. You aren’t the fool Dillard thinks you are. The evidence you’ve got, plus your testimony is enough to send Robert Dillard to the noose.”

“What evidence?” Dillard snorted.

“The actual murder weapon. The one Chester Ellis substituted Amelia Arden’s letter opener for.”

“There wasn’t any substitution. I was in court; I heard the doctor testify. He said the man was killed with that letter opener.”

“He said Richard Wellman was killed with a thin blade the same size as a letter opener. A letter opener is very similar in size and length to a tire knife, don’t you think? It was a very clever substitution. And if you had left well enough alone I never would have figured you for it.”

Della couldn’t see Dillard’s face, but she could hear the tension in his voice even as he scoffed at Perry’s assertions. “I’ve heard nothing but a bunch of crazy talk. Why would I kill Wellman.” The cigarette was still in his mouth as he spoke, and he patted his pockets looking for a light. Della sucked in a breath. When he disturbed it, the right side of his jacket moved with the weight of something a lot heavier than a lighter.

If Perry noticed, it didn’t register on his face. He continued on, intent on holding Dillard’s attention and Della scanned the parts of the room she could see for Paul. “It was Della Street’s purse that did you in. When Ellis called and told you what he’d done, you remembered she had called looking for her purse. You figured it was too good a chance to pass up. If Ellis’ fingerprints were on it, you’d have something to hold over him. He wouldn’t be able to hold you up for more money without risking himself. Wellman was staying only six or seven minutes from here. You went out and got the purse before the police arrived, looked up the record of the dispatch and planted it in the cab Ellis had told you he used.”

“Pretty story, but why would I kill this Wellman. I never met the guy.”

“Because he had you figured as the source of the police payoffs. You’ve been making a tidy sum working an off-track gambling racket. Which is how you knew Ellis likes to bet on the horses, how he happened to fall in with you, in fact.”

Robert Dillard shrugged. “Why don’t you go ahead and call the cops then. I did nothing and you can’t gonna pin anything on me. If Chester here really has something that killed that guy I think it’s gonna look a lot worse for him than me. Sounds like he already lied about what happened. Makes my word a lot better looking than his. You got a lot of guesses and nothing else.”

“You bastard!” Ellis spat. “He killed Wellman. And he paid me to make sure someone else would take the rap.”

Dillard shook his head and began his search for a light again. His hand dropped casually into that right pocket, and as he eased it back out the glint of blued steel caught Della’s eye. The breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding came out in a shriek, “Chief, he’s got a gun!”

Several things seemed to happened at once. Della was yanked unceremoniously backwards, and completely off-balance, fell to the floor with a bone jarring thud. She heard Tragg and Anderson shouting for Dillard to throw down his weapon, the loud report of a pistol echoing in the high ceilinged chamber, and the ping of a ricochet, the sounds of a struggle, curses, but she couldn’t have truthfully sworn under oath what order any of it happened in.

Della scrambled back to her feet, desperate to find out what had occurred but Andy Anderson’s body filled the door. He was covering the scene, gun drawn, and she couldn’t see or get around him.

“Easy does it, Dillard,” she heard Tragg say. “You plan on shooting all six of us?”

There was a clatter as something metal was tossed to the floor. Della hoped fervently it was Dillard’s gun.

“He made it all up! You can’t pin this on me!”

“We’ll just see about that. Right now, I’ve got you for attempted assault with a deadly weapon. You’re under arrest.”

With that pronouncement, Lieutenant Anderson pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and moved forward to restrain the scowling Robert Dillard.

Finally able to see what was going on, Della rushed into the room. Perry was giving Paul Drake a hand up off the floor. It looked as though he had tackled Chester Ellis. Paul hauled Ellis up by his collar and turned to Tragg, “Where would you like this shining example of ethics, Lieutenant?”

“Bring him here.” Tragg cuffed Ellis as well. “We’re going downtown to have a nice long chat.” He turned to Anderson. “Put Dillard in the car and get another on the way for Ellis.”

“Perry! Are you alright?”

“ _I’m_ fine, thanks for asking, Beautiful,” Paul interjected.

Della cut her eyes at him. “I didn’t see you facing down a killer and his accomplice.”

“Hey now, somebody had to be watching to make sure these snakes didn’t pull a fast one and slip out the back. Which I might point out, was exactly what Ellis tried to do.”

“Mmm, I suppose a medal is in order.”

“Don’t bother,” he groused. “It’ll show up in my expense report.” He shook his head at Perry. “You know, every one of these grey hairs is because of you.”

“It’s a very distinguished look, Paul,” Perry said with a wide grin that softened as he turned to Della. “You okay, kid?”

“Me? The worst that happened to me was a bit of a bump and a strenuous work out for my nerves. Where did that shot I heard go?”

“Dillard tried to shoot Ellis when he ran. He was lucky Paul floored him when he did.”

The detective pouted at her. “See? I’m the one throwing myself in the line of fire here. And what do I get? A lot of lip.”

Della felt a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry Paul. That was terribly unfair of me. You do deserve some proper recognition.” She pushed herself up on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Paul blinked in surprise.

“Well. Are there any rewards for the arresting officers, Miss Street?” Tragg asked playfully.

“The credit,” Perry snapped. Della swallowed the laugh that bubbled up at the scowl on his face. Was Perry Mason actually jealous? Over something as innocent as that kiss?

“None for you, Counselor?” Tragg asked with a raised brow.

“I’ll be satisfied with the release of my client.”

“I suppose that’s why I put up with your stunts. You’re never stingy about sharing the rewards.”

Perry grunted and Della bit the inside of her cheek to maintain a straight face.

“Mr. Burger is already waiting downtown. I’ll make sure he sees about Ellis’ statement personally. He isn’t going to be very happy to lose out on the opportunity to nail you though, Perry.”

“He’ll get over it. Putting the real killer behind bars will soften the blow.”

Tragg snorted. “It probably will, but I’d still recommend steering clear of him for a day or two.”

“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” the tall detective said.

“What’s that, Paul?”

Drake turned to Della. “How did you get Tragg down here anyway? Perry said he left you to your own devices.”

Della looked apprehensively at Perry’s still hard face and then down at her hands demurely, suddenly unsure how he was going to take it. “I’m not sure I should say.”

“Now I have to know!” Paul exclaimed.

Tragg supplied the answer along with a wry look. “She _claimed_ Mason had finally gone too far in his crazy stunts, and that she was willing to give the District Attorney the testimony he wanted if only we would…I believe the phrase ‘save him from himself’ was used.”

Paul burst out laughing. “Della turn rat on Perry? Not in a million years. You must be awfully soft for a pretty face if you bought that Tragg!”

Tragg’s face remain placid at this ribbing and Della decided there was no point in arguing the point with Paul. He could pan her acting abilities all he wanted, but she’d managed more difficult sells working for Perry and made it stick.

“Mr. Burger was quite insistent we investigate.”

Perry’s grim facade cracked slightly. “I’ll have to be sure to send him a note of thanks.”

A call from the hallway reached their ears.

“Down here boys!”

Two uniformed officers entered the garage and took Ellis into custody, followed by two more who began cordoning off the room. Tragg ushered the remaining trio back into the deserted front office.

“As soon as we get those two processed we’ll have Miss Arden released. I have a feeling Ellis is going to sing like a canary, but it may be a few hours yet.”

“Drake’s answering service will be able to reach me when you do.”

“Um, Perry, why don’t you let me take this one. I’ll drop you back at the office and then make sure Miss Arden gets home.”

Della raised a suspicious eyebrow. “To what do we owe this sudden desire to be a Good Samaritan?”

“Well, the poor girl really got taken for a ride by that rotten snake, Ellis—”

“Paul! The poor girl’s been in jail for a week. She isn’t going to be looking for a night on the town, no matter how dashing the partner!”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” he protested. “I just figured she might not want to go back to work for the DA’s office. You know Frances is getting married in a month and Margo is strictly nine to five. I could use a good secretary. But that’s getting away from the important details here. You think I’m dashing?”

Della smacked him on the arm but couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on her face. “You want to offer her a job? And here I thought romance was dead.”

“Hey, why should Perry have all the luck with secretaries? Maybe she’ll be my Della Street.”

“Impossible,” Perry announced. “There’s only one Della Street.”

Della blushed and then came back glibly, “And she’s about beat. Are we going back to the office or am I taking a cab home?”

“You go ahead and see how your luck is tonight, Paul. I’ll see Della gets home safely.”

“Try not to leave your purse in the taxicab this time, Miss Street.” Tragg added.

Della’s indignant reply was cut off before it started as Perry grabbed her arm and firmly steered her out the door.

She managed to keep her feet as he hurried her down the block to a taxi waiting near the corner. “You’re not sore are you, Chief?”

“About what?”

“That I convinced Tragg I was ready to give you up.”

“No, I’m not sore about that.”

“What are you sore about then?”

Perry sighed heavily. “There’s been a severe miscarriage of justice.”

“How do you figure that? You solved the whole case, saved an innocent woman from wrongful prosecution, and saw that the guilty parties were apprehended! Where’s the injustice in that?”

“Do I get to reap the rewards of all my clever deductions? No. Paul, the big palooka, trips over his own feet and gets a kiss for his troubles. Tragg even shows up at the last minute and tries to horn in on the accolades. It isn’t fair I tell you!”

So she _had_ read him correctly. A coy smile spread on her face. “I thought you said Miss Arden’s release was enough to satisfy you. Besides, doesn’t everyone know that the best rewards come to those who wait.”

“I lied. I am _extremely_ unsatisfied.” Perry’s eyes traveled over her and she self-consciously adjusted the jacket that hid her damaged blouse. “And I’m damned tired of waiting.”

She flushed. The way the man made her heart race when he did little more than look at her really ought to be illegal. “If you can’t wait twenty more minutes I think maybe I should get my own cab.”

“I have it on pretty good authority that with the right incentive a cab driver will turn a blind eye to a little canoodling.”

He opened the taxicab door, gave the driver her address, and Della herself a bit of a push. She didn’t resist, instead sliding to the far side of the car and placing her purse in her lap.

Perry slid in next to her, and rested an arm on the seat behind her. “Now, I think you should tell me, in detail, about these rewards.”

Della tilted her head thoughtfully as she considered. “Well, you did face down a killer with a gun. That’s certainly no less worthy than being shot at. So I believe you’re owed a kiss to begin with.”

Perry took her chin in his hand and turned her head gently so that she was looking at straight at him. The periodic illumination of the street lights distorted her sense motion, and when his lips found hers she was genuinely startled. He brushed against her, feather-light and halting, as if he was unsure what her reaction would be. Della’s breath caught and her lips parted in invitation, but Perry pulled back, holding her head still when she would have followed him intent on deepening that kiss. “That’s not a bad start,” he rumbled. She wondered if she was imagining the slight roughness she heard in his usually smooth baritone.

“That was barely a start,” Della said reproachfully. “You certainly deserve more than that.”

He leaned in again, but to her dismay he turned her head away rather than attempting another kiss. Instead, his lips brushed her ear, and a shiver went racing down her spine when he whispered, “What else?”

Della made a lightning fast decision, and before he eased away again she had undone the two buttons holding her jacket closed. She shifted on the seat so that their knees were touching and reached across her body for the hand Perry was gripping the seat-back with. He let her guide it between them, and once there she boldly drew it to her chest, slipping it beneath her jacket. Perry groaned quietly as his hand closed around a firm breast, and Della’s head fell back with a sigh that quickly became a whimper.

“I can’t possibly disagree with such an argument.” The ache in her breasts was compounded by the growing ache between her thighs. “What else?” he asked. She was definitely not imagining the roughness she heard.

Della wasn’t thinking quickly anymore. Perry was teasing her breast to a stiffening point and her breath was escaping in ragged gasps. What had her plan been? “Ah…a drink? I happen to know a place that’s oh…ohhh…open tonight. The bar may be limited to scotch and soda or coffee, but it is definitely exclusive.”

The cab slowed as it pulled to the curb in front of her building. “I like the sound of exclusive. It sounds as though justice may be served after all.” Perry released her, unobtrusively sliding his hand down her stomach and across her thigh as he pulled away. The space between them cleared the fog from her brain like magic.

“That’s right. _Just us_ ,” she smirked.

“Very funny.” Perry paid the driver while Della pulled her keys from her purse and hurried across the sidewalk.

She held the door impatiently as Perry moved leisurely toward her. “I thought you were tired of waiting!”

“Now that I have a pretty good idea what rewards are coming to me, I intend to savor them.” Della swallowed as Perry leaned over her to hold the door, trapped by his gaze. “After you.”

She turned on her heel, and walked to the elevator. Perry stalked behind her closely without touching her, his mere proximity making the hairs on her neck stand on end. The elevator door slid shut, and as it began it’s rattling ascent Perry pounced. He pushed her against the wall, tugging the tight, charcoal-grey skirt up until it was high on her thighs. With a grunt he lifted her off the ground, his hands taking a bruising grip on her rear before his mouth closed over hers. His tongue demanded entrance and she yielded to his desire, desperate to quench the fire burning her from the inside out.

Too soon the lift came to a lurching halt and he reluctantly broke away, his grip on her even tighter in his effort to master himself.

“Ouch, Perry, that hurts.”

“I’m sorry!” He set her down carefully. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. I fell at the garage. I’m just a little sore.” She pulled her skirt down hastily as Perry pulled the cage door open and then propelled her down the empty hallway.

“In that case, perhaps we should be discussing your rewards and not mine.”

“My rewards?” Her hands were trembling, and she fumbled slightly with her keys at the door. Perry plucked them from her hand and latchkeyed the door before pressing her into her apartment. The door shut with a definite click, and she spun to face him.

“A massage perhaps? You put me on to Dillard after all.”

“How?” Della backed slowly towards her bedroom door.

“That crack about having to stay behind to be a dispatch. Dillard was the one who told Dorian Faltz to look for your purse. He had the opportunity to plant it and access to a weapon very much like a letter opener.”

“What did you say it was?”

Perry followed her doggedly into the bedroom, never letting her get further than an arms reach. “A tire knife. Used for patching and repairing tires. An indispensable tool if you’re working on cars.”

“Why couldn’t it have been Faltz then? Didn’t he have access to all those things too?” Della dropped her purse and keys on the dresser.

“Sure, but no motive. The killer had to be someone involved in the gambling racket under investigation. Who is better situated to arrange payoffs than a man sending cabs out all over the city? So you see, I wouldn’t have figured it out without you.”

“Surely Ellis would have led you there anyway. You were having him tailed.”

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t have had the backup of Los Angeles’ finest. No, Della, without you I’d have very much been sunk.”

She slipped out of her jacket and he trailed her to the bathroom door. “Did you want that drink?”

“No. I want you. I want to undress you, and then worship you as you so richly deserve.”

So much for distracting him. Della’s tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip. “I need five minutes.”

Perry’s jaw tightened and he glanced at his watch. “Any longer and I’ll not be held responsible for my actions.”

She closed the door and took several deep breaths. When she felt sufficiently composed she found her diaphragm and the bottle of spermicide. It seemed a bit of a chore when all she wanted to be doing was letting Perry have his way with her, but she was not about to jeopardize their relationship just as it was blossoming into something amazing by neglecting protection.

Keeping in mind his request to undress her, she was debating reattaching her stockings to her garter when the door opened, and Perry strode in, having already stripped down to his boxers and undershirt. “Time’s up,” he announced and swept her into his arms. He carried her back into her room, and Della let out a squeak as he unceremoniously deposited her atop the flowered counterpane that covered the double bed.

For a moment an absurd fear gripped her. Her apartment was modest, and though neatly appointed, it had certainly been furnished with an eye towards function rather than fashion. She should have convinced him to go to his place. She’d seen his bed. It was definitely bigger. What if he wasn't comfortable here?

His mouth found her neck, and her concerns evaporated. Perry kissed his way down her chest, pulling her blouse apart, the buttons coming free as he went. He kissed her through the soft cotton of her bra, and Della moaned in need. God, she needed him. She arched upwards with a cry as his teeth gently worried a stiff nipple through the flimsy fabric barrier. He used the opportunity to slip his hands beneath her only to struggle with the clasp there. He growled and pulled her upright before he just pushed the straps and sleeves down her arms, pulling the whole thing down to her waist. She would have laughed if she hadn’t wanted him to succeed so badly. She struggled to free herself and managed to get an arm free as Perry worked on the zipper at the back of her skirt.

The laugh threatening to bubble up succeeded. “You’re not very good at this.” 

“I’m somewhat out of practice.”

“I certainly hope we can remedy that.”

“If you’re offering yourself as an instructor, you’ll find I’m a very attentive student.”

Della unhooked the bra with a smile, and shimmied to the edge of the bed so she could stand and let her skirt fall to the floor. Perry shucked his shirt and boxers as she slipped her stockings down.

“God, Della, you’re beautiful.” He pulled her back down to the bed and kissed her hungrily. Della wrapped her arms around him, her garters forgotten as he took possession of her mouth once more.

Della practically purred as she ran her hands over the expanse of his bared chest. Deciding it was time to take matters into her own hands she wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed him back onto the bed underneath her. He bumped into the wide pine headboard and paused to shift both of them further down. Della settled against his warm, firm length and let herself rock against him. Her hands clenched on his shoulders as the steady motion inflamed the tight bundle of nerves between her thighs.

Moans she couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, were torn from her throat, and Perry grabbed her by tightly by the hips. “If you don’t stop, this is going to be over a good deal sooner than I think either of us would like.”

Della responded with a dissatisfied groan and Perry rolled them over pinning her beneath him. “I might also add, that you aren’t any better practiced at this than I am. You’re still wearing clothes.”

“You distracted me,” she pointed out.

“So I did. Now, I’m going to distract you again.”

Perry took one nipple in his mouth and sucked gently, swirling his tongue around it before moving to the other. “Oh, god. Yes. Perry!” Della whimpered, shivering underneath him, desperate to feel more. He ran his hand down to her eager hips and pulled her soft, damp panties aside. His fingers found her slick and ready. His groan was just about the most magnificent thing she thought she’d ever heard.

“Are you sure, Della?”

Her eyes found his. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Tell me you want me.”

“Hell and damnation woman, I want you!”

“I’m sure.”

He sat up, but Della tugged him back down to her. “I brought protection,” he began.

“I’m glad, but I’m prepared for now.”

Perry hummed in satisfaction as he pulled off her underwear. Della reached for him, stroking him gently, and he stifled another groan against her neck, his breath dancing along her skin. He took her hands and squeezing his eyes shut moved them away.

His fingers moved back between her thighs, dipping into her, drawing her out, as his thumb rubbed circles over the point of her throbbing arousal. Della shuddered and bucked into his hand, panting, as the building heat pulsed and tightened in her belly. “Perry…I…” He intensified his efforts and Della’s need coalesced to a white hot point, the cresting wave causing her whole body to tighten as she cried out.

Perry brought them together, filling her at last. Lush and tight, she felt every inch as he moved deliberately inside her. His pace, steady at first, increased as Della matched him, bringing her hips up to meet his. He let his head fall next to her ear, her name on his lips, as his efforts became more erratic. His weight pushed her into the mattress and he finally collapsed with a grunting thrust.

With some effort, he rolled to the side and pulled her in close. They lay together, breathless, sated for the moment. It was perfect.

Perry broke the silence first. “Della…”

She recognized the tone in his voice. Damn it. “I refuse to acknowledge any statements brought on by a state of unparalleled bliss.”

“Marry me.”

Della sighed good-naturedly and snuggled closer to him. “We just wrapped up _The Case of the Purloined Purse_. How about we take a break before we jump into _The Case of the Misguided Marriage_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! Thank you so much to everyone reading along!! Your comments and kudos each bring an enormous smile to my face. I hope that it is a satisfactory end. I apologize for the wild comma usage and other grammatical errors that I will invariably catch tomorrow and edit then.


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